Present Tense: Future Perfect
by Miran Anders
Summary: A collection of future fics set at least four years down the road, when the tension and distrust of S3 are a distant memory.  Undeniably fluffy or bittersweet. NOT in any chronological order, more like stories around the table. Relatively canon.
1. Future Perfect

_A future fic, set some four years down the road. _

_While this has nothing to do with the finale, I found that I had an indescribable urge to post it now... perhaps just looking forward to a time when things are different for our boys, and the distrust of this season is a distant memory. I thank you for humoring me, and hope that you enjoy _

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><p><strong><em>Present Tense: Future Perfect<em>**

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><p>The phone rang in the darkness. Elizabeth groaned, disentangled herself from Peter's arms, and grabbed it from the nightstand. Blinking at the clock radio, she squinted at the time. 3:41 AM. "Hello?"<p>

"Elizabeth? It's Neal." His voice was far from steady.

She was instantly awake, sitting up and turning on her reading lamp. "Neal? What's wrong?"

"It's just…"

Reaching to her side, she grasped Peter's arm. His eyes opened just enough to see the expression on her face, and abruptly, he too was awake.

"What's up?"

She pulled the receiver up away from her lips. "It's Neal." Pulling it back down as Peter sat up and rubbed his eyes, she spoke with a calm she didn't feel. "Where are you?"

"At the hospital. It's happening." Elizabeth waited, willing herself not to talk. "She had some labor pains but they stopped… They think the baby might be in distress. They're talking about a c-section."

Elizabeth did some quick calculations in her head. "Okay. Okay, she's what, thirty-five weeks? That's not bad…"

"Thirty-seven."

"Even better. You know she's at the best place for it, hon."

"I know. I just – I'm…"

Elizabeth felt her eyes watering. "Listen, Neal. I'm giving you to Peter while I get dressed. Okay?"

Peter stepped around to her side of the bed, and she realized he already had jeans and a t-shirt on. He put his hand out for the phone, and handed his over at the same time. He glanced quickly at his watch and made a calculation. "Call Diana?" They traded phones and Elizabeth nodded, dialing as she dashed for the bathroom. Peter looked after her and took a deep breath. "Hey, Buddy. What's going on?"

"They're taking her down for a sonogram… "

Peter nodded, trying to counter the stress he was hearing. "Neal, kids show up when they feel like it. You know how it was for us… I'm sure that -"

"I know. It's just that the way they talk about this stuff, it scares me to death. And I think it scares Sara even more. I'm trying to be strong for her, but-"

"Neal." The older agent rubbed his eyes with his free hand and took a deep breath. "It's times like this that you have to be strong for each other. If she knows that you're scared too, it just might make it easier for her."

"You think so?" The tension in the younger voice was evident, but hope was trying to find a way through.

Peter scratched his fingers through his hair. "I know it was that way for El." A faint grin crossed his lips. "I guess it shows that you think it's just as important as they do. Sometimes I'm pretty sure women are stronger than we are, when it comes down to it... especially when they feel they need to be. Where's Sara now?"

The familiar exasperated sigh made Peter feel better. "They're doing a sonogram, and then prepping her for an epidural. She's scared, but she told the doctor she only wanted to hear positive affirmations. I don't even know what that music is she has playing."

Peter chuckled. "El said she was taking this whole natural childbirth thing pretty seriously. Just remember, she's a tough lady. The doctors would be smart to do what she says, because she could probably take them _all_ on."

"Exactly." There was a longish pause, a more vulnerable voice emerging. "Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"What if…"

Peter responded gently, but with his usual steady tone. "Neal. Don't borrow trouble."

The firm, warm assurance of his partner's voice only served to open the crack in Neal's demeanor even farther. "I mean, if something should happen to the baby… or to her - oh, for God's sake, Peter –" his voice cracked to a stop, and Peter waited patiently until his breath steadied. "You know… I never thought I'd even _want_ to be…"

"Hey. You know she wants this as much as you do."

"I know, but …" The silence held out for a moment. "Damn, it Peter. I've never been so scared."

The agent grinned. "And that's why you'll be a great father, Neal. We'll be down there in fifteen minutes, okay? Tell Sara to wait for us."

"Right."

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><p>oOo<p>

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><p>It was actually twenty minutes later that they arrived at the hospital maternity ward. Neal, blue eyes weary and dark curls unusually unkempt, came out to meet them dressed in scrubs. "Thanks for coming, guys."<p>

Elizabeth hugged him hard. "You know we're here for you." She gave him a kiss on the cheek and he suddenly frowned.

"Who's with the baby?"

"Diana was on call for this shift. It'll be fine, Matthew loves her."

"Shift?"

El laughed at his expression. "We've had an emergency schedule going for a week. You should know by now how many people care about you." She patted his cheek gently as he looked down, overcome once more, and changed the subject deftly. "How's she doing?"

Neal swallowed hard. "They're still checking some things … They won't let me in there until they finish."

"She'll be fine. The doctors will let you in once they get her set up, I'm sure."

His eyes were a deeper shade of blue in the night. "I hope so."

Elizabeth looked to Peter for help, who stepped up and put an arm around Neal's shoulder. "It's going to be okay. I know it's scary. But they're going to be fine…"

Neal opened his mouth to say something and stopped abruptly as a nurse walked in to the waiting area.

"Mr. Caffrey?" Neal swallowed hard.

"That would be me. How is she?"

The nurse smiled. "Much better than we feared. Her water broke before we could start the epidural for a section, and labor is coming on spontaneously. In a big way, I might add. Sometimes it just happens that way."

Neal stared, and Peter asked for him. "How's the baby?"

"According to the monitors, fine. You need to scrub up, Mr. Caffrey. Your wife is going to need all the support you can give her, and we can't have the father meet the baby for the first time with germy hands…"

She motioned for him to follow, and Neal had gone five steps before he stopped cold. Peter stepped forward and spoke softly. "Neal? What's wrong?"

"Peter… this is really going to happen."

Peter stared for a moment, then smiled, brown eyes sparkling. "Yeah, it is. You're going to be a father, Neal."

"But… am I crazy? I mean… what do I know…"

"No one knows, Neal." He reached over and gave his friend's shoulder a squeeze. "Everyone knows how much you two want this. Hell, I haven't even met this baby, and _I'm_ crazy about it. The only thing you'll have to worry about is the kid getting spoiled rotten. Just get in there and back her up. You're going to do fine."

Neal shook his head, a smile growing on his face. "Thank you."

"Go. Be brave. Your wife needs you."

Neal's old, familiar smile suddenly sparkled with excitement in the dim corridor. He looked from Peter to Elizabeth, and said, "I'll let you know as soon as I can - if Matty has a wife or a best friend."

They smiled broadly. "We'll wait." Elizabeth waved after him as they dashed down the corridor. Then she turned and rested her head on Peter's shoulder. "He's adorable." Her husband chuckled. "Do you think they'll be okay?"

Peter gave a peaceful sigh as he hugged her close. "I think they're going to be fine."

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><p>oOo<p>

oOoOo

oOo

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><p><em>...please feed the author...<em>


	2. Present Tense: The Second

_...since several people seemed to like a bit of future joy, I'm adding a couple more stories to this grouping. They won't be in any chronological order, but will be flashes of different scenes in the lives of our favorite people... _

_many thanks to those who read and review. I hope you enjoy this one, short and sweet._

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><p><strong><em>Future Perfect: The Second<em>**

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><p>It was dark. Elizabeth stood on the landing, looking out the window toward the backyard. The stars spilled across the sky in familiar patterns, and she smiled when she saw Orion, just barely clearing the trees as he headed south for the summer. Abruptly she frowned, took a deep breath, and glanced at her watch. She stood looking out at the stars for a few moments, then turned and headed back to the bedroom.<p>

"Peter."

He rolled over without opening his eyes as she sat down next to him on the bed. "Hmm?"

"You should call Neal."

"Okay." His eyes opened slowly, and he blinked at her, frowning. "What time is it?" His eyes drifted shut again.

She looked again at her watch. "About two in the morning."

"Oh." His eyes opened again. "Oh." He sat up more quickly and rubbed his eyes. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." She handed him the cell phone from its charger near the bed. "Here."

Taking it automatically, he punched the number three and hit send, waiting as it rang only twice. "Hey, Neal. Yeah. Elizabeth told me to call." He nodded at the phone. "Okay." Closing it, Peter looked up at his wife. "He's on the way."

"Good." She stood up and walked over to her dresser, and he followed. Leaning his chest against her back, he wrapped his arms gently around her.

"You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm –" she stopped talking and gave a little gasp.

"Breathe." He ran his hands over her arms and waited, hearing her take a few quick breaths and blow them out. After a minute she relaxed back into his arms with a sigh, and he held her for a long while. Eventually she whispered.

"I hate this part."

"I know." He turned her around and kissed her, looking into her eyes with such warmth that she felt herself melt. "Thank you."

Elizabeth laughed quietly. "You're welcome." She stood on her toes and kissed him again. "And stop making me fall in love with you every five minutes. It's getting so that –" She stopped again, and he rubbed her back. Downstairs they heard the back door open, and a voice called up quietly.

"Okay, kiddies, Uncle Neal's here. How about you guys try to get there with more than half an hour to spare this time?"

Peter turned toward the stairs. "We're on our way down, Neal."

"Hey, Buddy. How's Elizabeth?"

Peter looked at his wife, breathing carefully as she stood in an oversized t-shirt and loose pants, beginning to break a sweat. "She's beautiful."

Elizabeth looked up at him, ready to make a snide comment, and saw that he was absolutely sincere. She shook her head and picked up her overnight bag, which he took away from her with practiced ease. "What did I tell you? About the making me fall in love?"

He grinned and kissed her cheek. "I'll try to get it down to every seven minutes. How would that be?"

"It's a start."

They ducked into Matty's room briefly and then walked downstairs. Elizabeth gave Neal a hug. "Thanks. We told him it might be soon, and that you'd be here."

"No problem. Don't worry about anything. Just call my cell when you have news." A round of hugs later, they were in the car, driving to the hospital.

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><p>oOo<p>

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><p>Three hours and fifteen minutes later, Elizabeth gave a last yell and fell back into the pillows, clutching Peter's hand so hard that it must have hurt – if he'd been paying any attention to it. An annoyed little coughing noise gave way to one petulant cry, and Elizabeth closed her eyes and breathed a silent prayer. Relief flooded through her as the doctor called out 'ten' for the apgar. Too tired to lift her head, she watched Peter's face instead, seeing the smile that seemed to illuminate him from within.<p>

He looked down at Elizabeth, his eyes wide, and actually giggled. "It's _her_."

The nurse walked over with the tiny bundle. "Mr. Burke? I'd like you to meet your daughter."

Peter folded her gently in his arms and spoke softly. "Hey, beautiful." He looked at his wife and grinned. "We lucked out. She looks like you." Then he gasped and looked back down to his daughter, who had grabbed his little finger, holding on as if she would never let go. He swallowed hard, and when he looked up again there were tears in his eyes. "She's got me."

Elizabeth gave him a tired smile, her eyes shining. "I know."

He leaned over to kiss her, and rested the baby in her arms. "I love you."

"I love you, too." She looked at the little girl and leaned her head against Peter. "But who is she?"

He reached out and ran a finger over the downy hair on his daughter's head. "Rebecca. 'Becca' for short."

"Really?"

"I'm sure."

Elizabeth giggled. "She does have that look about her." Looking up at him, she said, "You know, she may never forgive us for Becca Burke."

"She'll get over it."

Rebecca Burke took that moment to yawn widely. Her eyes opened as she looked up and blinked at them, twice, as if considering her choice of parents carefully. Satisfied, she closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep.


	3. Future Perfect: A Modest Proposal

_I warned you that these weren't in any chronological order... _

_and here we are, with a scene that comes **before** the very first one I posted. Try to keep up...ha! If you don't keep too firm a grip on it, they'll all make sense someday. _

_Thank you to those who humor me as I let my muse dance around in this imaginary AU timeline... laa la laaaa..._

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><p><em>oOo<em>

**_Future Perfect: A Modest Proposal _**

_oOo_

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><p>Neal stepped closer to the window, his expression solemn. Light filtering through the colorful glass covered him in abstract patterns, turning the elegant, rather conservative period morning coat he wore into something much more fanciful. He heard quiet footsteps, but didn't turn.<p>

"Neal? You okay?"

Of course his best friend would notice something. No one else would have asked that question – and the only other of the guys that might even wonder would be Mozzie. _Knowing Moz, he might have checked with Peter already._ Neal shook his head. "I'm fine."

Peter waited. He'd always known when there was something his partner was holding back, and this time his patience was rewarded much sooner than he thought.

Neal cleared his throat with less subtlety than usual. "So… have you seen Sara?"

Peter grinned. "I have."

Another pause. "How does she look?"

"Gorgeous."

"I wish I could see her." Neal's voice was oddly quiet.

"You will, soon enough." Peter grinned, but Neal's eyes remained fixed on the window. The older agent glanced across the room and back, concern rising in his chest as he frowned. "You mean before the wedding? Is something wrong?"

Neal looked down at the floor. "No." When he lifted his eyes to his best man, a smile was safely in place, although it barely touched the blue eyes. "It's all good. How close are we?"

Peter stared at him, then nodded before looking at his watch. "Twenty." His eyes brightened as he raised a hand. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back." He left quickly, and Neal watched after him for a few seconds before turning back to the window.

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><p>oOo<p>

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><p>Alone in a tiny chapel, Sara took a deep breath and stood from where she had been kneeling. She smiled as she heard a delicate knock on the door. "Yes?" It opened silently and Peter looked in.<p>

"Am I bothering you?"

She swept over and pulled him in, giving him a hug as she began speaking with speeding excitement. "Not at all. I think they put in this chapel just so a person could have a little quiet time out of the insanity. And with three of my sorority sisters here, not to mention the crazy aunt…it works. Thank God El is here to help me! She's been so wonderful. And this beautiful little room… it's always been one of my favorite things about this church, even when I wasn't going so much…" Her radiant smile faded slightly when she looked into his thoughtful brown eyes, and realized she was rambling nervously. "Peter? Is everything okay? How's Neal holding up?" She gave him a not-quite sarcastic look and her head dropped to one shoulder. "He _is_ still here, isn't he?"

Peter blinked at her with a frown - a bit overwhelmed by this manic version of the woman he knew - before he realized what she was saying, and then laughed. "No, no, he's not running, don't worry." Looking around the small, windowless room thoughtfully, he added, "In fact, he says 'it's all good'. But can you stay in here for a couple more minutes?"

She frowned lightly, but nodded. "Sure. Do you want to tell me what's going on?" He was already out of sight when she finished, and she went on with a wry grin to the empty room. "Of course not. And why did I think today would be any different?"

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><p>oOo<p>

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><p>"Hey, Neal. Come on."<p>

The former con man, still standing near the window, looked around at Peter in surprise. "It can't have been twenty minutes already."

"Hardly. Just come on."

Neal frowned after his friend, who left the room assuming he would follow – which of course he did. They slipped out a side door and around to a back entrance, down a hall to a tucked away nook. An elegantly carved wooden door had a small plaque on it that bore the words 'meditation chapel'. Neal looked at it, and then turned to Peter. "I'm fine, Peter. I don't need to –"

"Shut up. And close your eyes."

"What?"

"Just do it, or I'll tie that ascot around your head." He moved Neal to the side of the door, knocked gently on it and opened it a fraction, reaching in along the wall and speaking to whoever was inside. "Hey. I'm turning off the lights."

"You are? …um... is there a reason you feel you need to do that?"

"Because. You can't see each other. My wife would kill me." Both of his friends began to protest at once, as he steered Neal blindly into the room. "Now shut up and talk."

They heard the door close and Neal opened his eyes into pitch blackness. There was a moment of silence in the dark. "…Sara?"

A pause, then a giggle. "Could be. It's kind of dark to tell…"

He reached out and felt a hand touch his arm. "I'm sorry. I didn't ask him to do this-"

"It's okay, Neal." He could hear the smile in her voice as her hand found his and their fingers tangled together. She knew Peter wouldn't have brought him here without good reason. "Are you okay? Is anything wrong?"

"Yeah. No. I think so. I just…" He reached out with his other hand and they stood facing each other. She leaned into him and kissed his cheek.

"No secrets, Neal. Just say it."

He let out a long breath. "Are you okay with…" his hand gestured broadly in the darkness, "this?" He heard her quickly inhale and in his mind's eye could see her shocked expression.

"Okay? Neal, I – why wouldn't I be okay with this?" Her first instinct was stilled by the fact that she could feel the tension radiating off of him, and she knew him well enough to wait for the explanation. Unfortunately, they didn't have a lot of time. "All right, Caffrey. Tell me what's going on in there. Now."

There was a long pause as his fingers brushed across hers. "I feel like I rushed you into this."

The statement sat there in the dark like a boulder, until Sara pushed it aside. "Into talking?"

"No. Into getting married so quickly. I know you weren't sure for so long, and that trusting me can be…well. I just want to say that if you're uncomfortable at all with any of this, I know I hardly deserve –" He was silenced by soft fingers resting gently on his lips.

"Neal Caffrey. Are you telling me you're giving me a chance to back out of marrying you?"

The pause was longer, and this time, the man's voice sounded quite a bit younger. "It's only fair. I mean… if you want to…" Sara smiled at him in the dark, shaking her head. Memories swirled around her as she stood for a long moment holding his hand, and something in him began to seriously worry. "Sara?"

She stepped closer to him, rested her hands on his chest and sighed, her voice a sweet whisper. "Do you remember the night you proposed?"

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><p><em>They had been standing on his rooftop in the dark after the annual office picnic and football game, looking at the stars. The day had been a bit of an extra celebration, because it marked the one-year anniversary of his freedom - and of his independent consultant status with the agency. <em>

_ She had shivered, and he automatically took off his sweatshirt and wrapped her in it. He remembered the moonlight shining on her face when she thanked him with a smile, and how beautiful she looked, standing there in grass-stained jeans and his over-sized shirt. It amazed him, how different his life was now… how they had found each other again… how he never thought he could be so happy… and he wanted to tell her, tell her so many things at once -but there were no words. So he kissed her instead, and realized a moment later he had dropped to one knee in front of her._

_ "Sara?" he said, quietly in the still of the night, not quite trusting his voice as he brought her hand to his lips. "Will you marry me?"_

_ Her eyes had widened and she nearly laughed, thinking he must be joking – but the expression shining so vulnerably in his face made it clear he was absolutely serious. She sank to her knees to face him, wrapping her arms around his neck as she looked into those eyes she loved so well. "Yes, Neal. I will."_

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><p>Standing in the dark chapel, Neal ran his hand gently down her back, nodding as his head rested on her shoulder. He pictured the moment perfectly. "I remember."<p>

Sara took a step back, holding his hands once more. "Then you should know that as far as I'm concerned, I've been your wife since that night." She felt the relief as he exhaled, resting his forehead against hers. "Today we have a party to celebrate, and tell the world what we already know... and I couldn't be happier," she said softly, although there was a touch of serious question in her voice when she spoke again. "Unless _you're_ having second thoughts?"

He pulled back far enough to take her face gently in his hands, his thumb brushing across her lips. Shaking his head, he paraphrased one of her favorite musicals, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

"Sara Ellis. For as long as you will have me, I am yours." She giggled, and he kissed her tenderly. "I think it's show time."

"Good. Let's get married."

He kissed her once more and turned to the door, pausing with one hand on the knob. "Sara."

"Yes?"

"I am the luckiest guy."

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><p>oOo<p>

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><p><em>...please feed the author...<em>


	4. Future Perfect: Onward and Upward

And now, a super, _super_ short. Thank you for indulging me, I just wanted to put it up.

For those trying to keep track, this takes place about ten years after the second posting…

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><p>oOo<p>

_**Future Perfect: Onward and Upward**_

oOo

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><p>"Hey, sweetheart. Slow down."<p>

"Can't."

"Can't, or won't?"

"Da-ad…"

She drew out the word with pre-adolescent skill. _If girls are ever pre-adolescent_, he conceded to himself. He watched as she wrapped one knee and one elbow around a tree on the steep slope, searched her pockets and found a hair tie. With her knee still around the tree she managed to pull back her long, dark hair and yank the ponytail tight with expert abandon, even standing at a crazy angle. He blinked in amazement as she went on. "If I go any slower it'll be harder."

"Harder?" He frowned up at her as she clung fearlessly to the sapling on the steep hillside. "You're kidding."

"No, really. Faster's easier. Try it."

He shook his head at her as he grabbed an outgrowing root. "Fine." With a burst of speed he traveled a few yards uphill, passed his daughter and lunged for a tree as his feet slipped, barely made the catch and pulled himself upright, panting as much with surprise as exhaustion. Rebecca smiled at him proudly.

"See? I told you."

He rolled his eyes, still catching his breath. "Oh, yeah. _Much_ easier."

Her head dropped to her shoulder. "Dad…"

He laughed in spite of himself, looked back over the distance he covered. "Okay, I give. It works."

The bright-eyed smile that she gave him crawled directly into his chest and lodged somewhere behind his heart.

"Cool! The spot is just a little farther up."

He shifted around to lean on the tree's uphill side and glanced at a rocky outcropping some ten yards ahead, and nearly straight up. Something dawned on him and he turned to stare at her. "Wait a minute. This is where we heard you playing guitar from last night?"

"Yeah. It looks really cool from up there. And you can even see our tent."

He watched as she scrambled past him effortlessly. She made it look so easy that when she slipped, he barely had time to react before had she twisted her body around, stopping her downhill slide awkwardly with a foot against a rock. He crawled quickly on all fours over to where she landed, concern giving him speed as she lay there trembling.

"Sweetheart. You okay?" Kneeling over her, he realized the shaking in her body was pure laughter. It didn't stop her from letting him scoop her into his arms, though. She turned her head against his chest to look up at him.

"Did you see that? That was hysterical!" She hugged herself against him and he shook his head, pulling dead leaves out of her hair.

"Oh, yeah. Hysterical. You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, Dad. It's kind of cool, if you don't fall as far as the rocks. But you know what's _really_ funny?"

He exhaled, wondering if he gave his parents as many scares as she so blithely gave him and El. A few memories surfaced, and he decided that was a dangerous train of thought to follow, and one that would probably only lead to sleepless nights. "What's that, sweetheart?"

"I did the _exact_ same thing yesterday!"

He frowned. "You fell down the hill yesterday? With your _guitar_?"

She returned his frown identically, but with clear blue eyes. Her tone seemed rather offended at the idea that she would put any guitar, let alone her new one, in danger.

"No! I got the guitar past the tree before I slipped." She giggled at his expression, and he heard the same sweet sound as when El laughed. Hugging his neck hard and giving him a kiss on the cheek before disentangling herself, she stood up against a tree and brushed herself off, then looked at her father expectantly. "You ready to keep going?"

With a combined expression of fear and wonder, Peter looked at his daughter. "As ready as I'll ever be."

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><p>oOo<p>

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><p><em>…if you're so inclined, please feed the author…<em>


	5. Future Perfect: Homecoming

_...another small confection. And a small mystery revealed, as well. My sincere thanks to those who read and review... it really does make me want to write more, and more..._

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><p>oOo<p>

_**Future Perfect: Homecoming**_

oOo

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><p>It was good to be on case.<p>

A month-long rush of research, stake-outs, traveling to different sites. Meeting other experts in the field, being respected as an equal. Watching and helping his partner interrogate suspects, finding the clues to the end, even as it led them to DC for a week as consultants … and now... here they sat.

He really didn't realize he had sighed. His partner turned and looked at him with a slightly puzzled expression. "You okay?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Just… "

There was a deep chuckle. "Yeah. I know. Long day. Long _week_. We should be taking off soon, though."

"Right…"

After a thoughtful pause, his partner spoke again. "You know, you did some really good work this week. ...I'm proud of you." They exchanged a slightly awkward glance before he hurried on. "And you certainly earned yourself a couple days off." The man let go a sigh of his own. "Actually, I think we both have. Hughes said as much when I called."

There was a weary smile in the response. "Yeah. It'll be nice to have a little down time."

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><p>It was good to be part of a successful team, good to be trusted.<p>

It was amazing, actually. But at the end of it all, after a cab picked them up at the airport and drove them to their respective homes, the first thing he did was trot upstairs and turn to the small room at the left of the landing.

Walking by memory, blind in the dark room, he made it halfway to the bed before a small voice called out, somehow knowing that he was there.

"Daddy?"

"Hey, sport." He scooped his son up and squeezed his eyes shut as small arms wrapped around his neck, feeling absolute joy radiating off the body that barely spanned his torso. "I missed you, kiddo."

The child buried his face against his father's neck, mumbling into his shoulder. "Case's all closeded? You godda bad guys?"

A megawatt smile gleamed in the dark room. "That's right. We got the bad guys. Daddy's home for the rest of the summer. Uncle Peter promised." He hugged the boy close, who giggled sleepily as the nursery door opened behind him. The voice they heard was soft but firm.

"All right you two. It's the middle of the night. It's sleeping time, not talking time."

The response was sleepy but quite definite. "But _Daddy's_ here…" As if that explained any breach of protocol.

"Yes, he is, and he'll be here when you wake up."

Her son stuck out his lower lip. "I wan'im to tell me story."

"Raphael…"

She looked from her son to her husband and sighed when she saw the same expression - in eyes the identical shade of blue. It wasn't the first time they'd teamed up on her – and somehow, it always worked. And somehow, she admitted silently to herself, she never seemed to be able to really get upset about it.

"Fine. But Mommy gets a story next." She smirked as she saw the sparkle in her husband's eyes, and leaned in to kiss him. He held their son and whispered quietly.

"I love you."

She brushed her palm across his cheek in the dim light from the nursery window. "I love you too. See you in the morning."

His frown was sincere. "No. I won't be that long."

She smiled, looking into his eyes that she loved so much. "Right. You'll lay down with him and be asleep in five minutes. I know how that goes. And it's fine. You both need your sleep."

"Daddy lay down w'me?" The voice was already fading from exhaustion, but still determined. So much like his father's that she felt tears of wonder come to her eyes.

"Yes. Daddy's going to lay down with you. Go to sleep, honey. That's a good boy."

The father hesitated before he sat down on the edge of the bed, still cradling their son. "Really, Sara. I'll be in soon."

"Really, Neal." She grinned, kissing him gently and running a hand through his tousled hair, resting the other on their son's back. "Come and find me," her eyebrow lifted, "when you feel rested."

He shook his head as he sat on the edge of the bed, watching her walk to the door. His lips moved silently as she glanced back at him._ I love you_.

Her smile sparkled in the dim light, and she closed the door silently behind her. Raphael stirred in his father's arms. "Daddy?"

"Shhh. Sleeptime, sweetheart." He settled down with his son lying on his chest, pulling the comforter up to cover them both. For a while he lay there in the dark, smelling the sweet warm scent of his son. Wrapping his arms tightly around the small bundle of life, he took a deep breath.

It was good to be home.

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p><em>I admit, I'm fond of this one.<em>

_...please feed the author..._


	6. Future Perfect: When It Rains

_there was some request for more of Neal and Sara's future... and so here they are. Definitely in the early days of their relationship, and Neal's freedom to move about..._

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

_**Future Perfect: A Rainy Night**_

oOo

* * *

><p>"Yes, June. We'll be fine. Peter and El are supposed to come up and join us in a couple days. No, the tent has a rainfly and we always set a tarp besides… It'll be fine." Sara sighed as she shifted the phone on her shoulder. She loved June, but the woman had no concept of what camping was about. "We're in a state park. There's facilities… yes, bathrooms. Showers. What? No, we don't need laundry… for heaven's sake, it's only five days… and we can go into town anytime… June! We'll be fine. Yes. We love you, too. I will. Bye." She hung up the phone with an exasperated laugh.<p>

"Everything okay?" Neal walked through the kitchen carrying two sleeping bags, a knapsack, and her computer bag.

"Yeah, it's fine. June is just worrying about the weather."

"Really? She's that worried about a little rain? It probably won't even get to where we are."

"I know that, but she doesn't." She stepped closer to him and kissed him, her hands threading through his hair.

"No fair," he murmured, nearly dropping the sleeping bags to hold her more closely. "I thought we were trying to get out of here on time."

"We are." She smiled, kissed him again, and turned to close the cooler she had packed. A glance at the clock made her grin. "And I think we might, for a change."

* * *

><p>The weather held as far as half a mile from the campgrounds. Sara stared at the windshield as something hit it, and frowned as it bounced off. She began to laugh. "Tell me that's not hail."<p>

"Okay. That's not hail." More of the ice pellets hit the windshield, dinging off the roof of the car loudly. Neal tightened his smile against a laugh and glanced over at her. "All right, I have to admit it. There's a chance that it's hail." His shrug was cheerful enough. "You know it won't last for more than fifteen minutes.

"I know." She smiled back at him and entwined her fingers through his while she could, before he'd need his shifting hand on the steep roads leading up to the camp. "I hope it's not too wet."

"Our site has a lot of trees. We should be fine."

Her voice practically purred in reply. "Oh, I know _we'll_ be fine." She blinked at him innocently as he swiveled his head at her tone, and laughed when he shook his head.

"Woman. You'll be the death of me."

Sara let her hand slide from his as he released it to downshift, her palm falling delicately on his thigh. "You love it."

"I know. And so do you. That's the problem."

* * *

><p>Half an hour later they pulled into their favorite campsite. It was only beginning to rain on the mountain, and while an overhanging beech sheltered the spot where they were going to set up the tent, the only place to park was completely exposed. They scampered back and forth from the car to the trees, laying the tarp quickly before the ground got wet, and it became a game to see who could move the fastest. By the time they got the tent up, it was beginning to rain in earnest; by the time Sara got the mattress inflated and Neal got the overhanging tarp rigged, they were nearly soaked through.<p>

Sara zipped the tent shut behind her and walked over to where Neal was tying off the last line, water dripping from his hair into his eyes, and grabbed a handful of his t-shirt. He looked down at her, puzzled. With an impish grin, she wrung out a blob of water onto his already wet jeans. "You should be careful. I think you're working up a sweat with all this work…"

"I think you're just as bad." His gaze fell to her wet shirt for a moment, and she covered her chest in mock horror, responding with a decent rendition of a southern accent.

"Why, Mr. Caffrey. I do believe you have impugned my reputation."

"I'll impugn more than that if you give me a minute…" He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him so hard that they actually splashed. The laughter led to a kiss, which led to another, which led to less laughter but a more thorough soaking as the rain continued to pour. For a few minutes they enjoyed nature at its finest.

Sara dropped her forehead to his shoulder, catching her breath. "God, I love kissing in the rain." She lifted her eyes to his, the greenish hazel meeting blue halfway in the growing dusk. "And I love you."

He ran a finger delicately down her cheek, lifting her chin so he could kiss her again. She shivered as he did, and then shivered again when he pulled away. Warm concern lit his eyes. "Hey. You cold?"

"Yes and no, " she giggled. "But maybe a little." The rain was dying down and the breeze picking up.

"We should get you warmed up. And into some dry clothes." He wrapped an arm over her shoulder and headed for the car to get their knapsacks. "You want a shower first?"

Sara glanced around the loop toward the distant light of the shower facility. Coming in as they did, on a Monday, it was nearly deserted, with only one other tent on the far side of the loop. They practically had the place to themselves. She considered for a moment, then looked up into his eyes. "Only if you wash my hair…"

He laughed for a second before he realized she was serious. At first he just stared at her, then he looked furtively around the loop, making the same observation she did. They were essentially alone. "Ah…" He looked down at his soaked clothing and shook his head, eventually looking back up at her with a grin. "What the hell." They stopped at the car to grab their bags and walked down the road to the showers, his arm over her shoulder, hers around his waist.

It was a lengthy shower.

* * *

><p>Some time later, warmer and drier, Neal pulled the flashlight from his bag and they headed back to the tent, walking quietly in the dark. When they reached their home for the week, he unzipped the door and held it back for her, and she felt herself melt. His gallantry always made her stomach do a little flip, and he didn't even seem to realize it. At moments like this she always wanted to tell him, somehow, how much he meant to her, how much it all meant… no matter how many times she had said it before. Sometimes it didn't even seem possible, just being so happy, so in love…<p>

"Neal?" Her emotions were clear, even as she whispered his name in the dark of the tent. "I just –"

"Shhh." He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her tenderly. When he pulled back, he looked into her eyes with a gentle smile. "Just let me love you."

The wind in the trees sang a lullaby in the cooling night as the lovers kept each other warm. At midnight the rain returned, softly, pattering against the tarp overhead. By the time the clouds had emptied, and drifted past the moon to lend some light to the middle of the night, Sara was fading into sleep, her head resting on Neal's chest. The rhythm of water drops falling from the trees made a distinctive counterpoint to the heart she heard beating so steadily beneath her. She felt Neal's hand stroke through her hair, his lips touching the top of her head gently before he whispered.

"Good night, Sara. Sweet dreams."

She sighed, nuzzled against him, and fell peacefully into sleep.


	7. Future Tense: Father and Son

_...must be the summer that's making all these camping fics. This comes directly after 'Onward and Upward', which had Peter and Becca climbing in the woods. I hope you enjoy._

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

**_Future Perfect: Father and Son_**

oOo

* * *

><p>Elizabeth tapped a few keys and stared at her laptop monitor thoughtfully as she tried to organize her new brochure. A leaf fell across the keyboard, followed by an acorn that hit hard enough to type a random 'y' and then bounced to type 'p' before falling off. Picking up the leaf with a laugh, she glanced over at her son who was sitting across the fire from her, reading. "I think the squirrels are trying to tell me something. Any idea what 'yp' stands for?" Matt didn't answer, but as she watched she noticed his focus was clearly not on the book. "Honey? You okay?"<p>

He didn't look up. "I'm fine."

She frowned slightly as she watched him. "Oh, really."

"Yeah."

"Matthew."

He finally looked up at her. "What?"

Tilting her head to the side, she gave him a concerned smile. "What's going on?"

He closed the book, shifted in his camp chair, reached down and threw a stick into the fire. "Nothing."

She closed her laptop, walked over to the tent and slipped inside to put it away. A minute later she was back out at the fire, watching her son as he stared at the flames, his book forgotten. "So."

"So what?"

Elizabeth gave him a resigned smile. "You want to tell me what you're thinking about?"

Matt stared into the fire for a while longer, then took a deep breath, and spoke without looking up at her. "Well, part of it is how Dad likes Bec better than me."

Elizabeth bit back her first responses, looking at her son. She tried to speak casually. "What makes you say that?"

"Come on, Mom. It's pretty obvious."

"I don't know about that. I do know that she tends to get into trouble more than you."

"Right. Not that she ever really gets in trouble for it."

"She had extra chores all last week because of the bicycle. And she couldn't go to Marci's pool party."

"Yeah." He picked up a stick and poked at the fire listlessly. "But Dad never really gets mad at her."

"You think your dad gets really mad at you?"

He shrugged, moved a log and stared dully at the flames. "When he does, it's different than with Bec."

"Okay." She took a deep breath and tried to think calmly. "That's fair."

He looked up at her. "Yeah?"

"Well, of course. You're two different people. Your dad and I expect a certain level of behavior from you, and hold you to that. Becca's younger."

"Right."

"You think that's not fair?"

"I don't know." He shrugged and shifted in the camp chair, poked at the fire again. "It's just… I don't know." He glanced at her, and back to the flames. "And I just think he's going to be more disappointed in me now."

Elizabeth frowned slightly, watching him, but kept her tone easy. "Why's that? You planning to rob a bank or something?"

"No." His eyes grew harder as he seemed to steel himself. "I'm planning to stop playing baseball."

She managed to keep her expression completely neutral. "If you don't want to play, Matt, you don't have to. We've always said that." The mother in her couldn't help adding, "but you know, you're very good."

"Yeah. I'll never be as good as …"

Elizabeth actually bit her tongue as she waited for her brain to come up with a helpful response. "Your father was very good in college, that's true. But he loves the game."

"Yeah, but… I don't know, Mom. I just don't think I do."

The breeze picked up, singing through the trees and fanning the flames. "I think you can do anything you want to, Mattie. It's your choice, though. Your dad isn't going to be mad at you."

"No, but he'll be disappointed. And Bec's already making him proud with the music stuff." His expression grew stoic, and Elizabeth's heart ached for the young man in front of her. "I just wish he could be proud of me that way. I feel like every time I try to talk to him about my artwork, he sees Uncle Neal. It's like he gets worried that I'm…"

"Matt…" She stopped, tried very hard to remember being thirteen, and what might be at the heart of this. "Your dad loves you very much. You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah." He looked at her and shrugged. "Kind of." He shifted a log in the fire, sending up a shower of sparks. "I just wish… I don't know." He looked up at the sun that was glowing like an ember through the trees on its way down, and they sat in the nature-filled silence for a while. "I think I'm going to go take some pictures. I haven't really done much with the new camera in dusk light. Is that okay?"

She smiled gently at him. "That's fine. But I'd like you back here in an hour. Okay? The Caffrey's should be here soon. And be careful."

"I will." He got up to go to the tent, then stopped and walked back to her, giving her a hug as she sat. "Thanks, Mom." She rubbed her hand across his back and blinked hard.

"Anytime, sweetie." When he stood, she looked up at him. Thirteen, and already so tall. "You want me to tell your dad?"

He took a deep breath and looked out toward the trees. "Nah. I'll tell him. It's mine."

The resigned, responsible expression in her son's deep brown eyes was heart-wrenchingly familiar. "Okay."

He gave her a brave smile and ducked into the tent to grab his camera knapsack. "I'll stay on the east trail. So you know where I am." Glancing again at the light, he added, "And I may not even be an hour."

"Thank you, sweetie. Good luck."

Quietly he hiked off into the trees, leaving Elizabeth to sit staring at the fire.

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>Peter and Rebecca walked back into camp, laughing. Peter looked at Elizabeth sitting and staring at the fire, and his expression calmed. "El?" She seemed to come back from some other version of reality to look at them.<p>

"You guys have a good hike?"

"Oh, it was exciting, all right…"

"It was _great_, Mom. Dad even kept up. Where's Matt?"

"He went to take some pictures. He should be back soon."

"Cool. Can I go find him?"

"He's on the east trail. Do you remember which one that is?"

"Mo-m."

"Fine. Just be careful."

"Okay." She turned to dash off when Peter stopped her.

"Take a flashlight, Becca."

She looked pointedly at her mother instead of him. "Do I have to?" Elizabeth and Peter gave her an identical pair of cold stares. "Okay! Geez, I was kidding. No sense of humor." The girl skipped over to the tent and grabbed her flashlight, then headed out through the trees after her brother. Peter stared after her and then looked at Elizabeth.

"I can't believe her. How many times has she gotten in trouble for trying to play us against each other?"

"Well, what do you expect? She's going to test the limits. Figure out the system."

Peter stopped, looked at her. "You're going to say she takes after me, aren't you."

"I would never."

He walked behind her and leaned over, nuzzling her shoulder. "You know, they probably won't be back for –"

"Peter?" He reluctantly stopped kissing her neck and looked at her.

"What?"

"Nothing. Well…" He waited. "I was wondering. When was it you felt like you and your father grew apart?"

He frowned, then hugged her close and thought. "Well, you know it was pretty tense for a while, but I suppose that's pretty standard for fathers and sons. I'd guess it got really bad when I was about –" He stopped abruptly and pulled back, his eyes concerned. "Is Matt okay?"

"Oh, he's fine."

Peter lifted an eyebrow and stared at her suspiciously. "Are Matt _and I_ okay?"

She smiled gamely and walked over to the picnic table to refill her water bottle. "He seems a little… well… unsettled, I guess. You might want to talk to him."

He followed her to the table. "Okay. I will." Watching her for a moment, he added, "Anything I should know about?"

She rolled her eyes. "Please. At their ages? Isn't there always?"

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>Becca came up behind Matt as quietly as possible. When she was ten feet away, he turned and looked at her. "What."<p>

"No fair. You weren't supposed to hear me."

"Yeah, then don't sound like a stampede of elephants through the woods. Did they send you to get me?"

"No, I sent myself. What're you doing?"

He did a slow look to the camera which was carefully set on his tripod and back to her. "Gee… maybe I'm playing soccer. No, that can't be it. Painting my bedroom?"

"Shut up." She punched his arm, but without rancor. "I meant, what are you taking pictures of, Jerk."

He grinned at her delivery in spite of his mood. "Sunset looks good tonight. I'm just waiting for that one cloud to move."

She looked up at the scene and nodded approval. "Cool." She crouched down on a large rock and watched him watch the sky. "Why don't you just start taking a bunch of pictures now and keep the ones that look best?"

"Because I know where I want that cloud to be. I'll take a few, but I don't need to waste pictures."

"But it's a digital –"

"Bec. It's the way I do it."

She crossed her arms over her knees as she sat. He was the only person in the world, thus far, who got away with calling her 'Bec'. She sighed. "You're a lot more patient than I am."

"No, really?" He was too far away to hit, so she contented herself with sticking her tongue out at him. After a pause filled by watching a dragonfly zip around the trail, she shifted on the rock and began stacking little pebbles on the ground in a fortress circle.

"Didja tell Dad yet?"

"No. Talked to Mom, though."

"What'd she say?"

"Oh, you know. Whatever I wanted to do was fine."

"Right." Part of her miniature wall toppled and she turned it into a door. "I still think you should keep playing. You're really good."

"Thanks." His cloud was nearly in place, and Matt checked the angles.

"I mean, Dad even says so."

He glanced back at her. "He has to."

"I dunno. He never says that I'm a good… painter or something."

"'Cause you're _not_. You don't even try."

"Yeah, but if he has to say we're good at things…"

"It's just different, Bec."

She gave a more-than-adult sigh. "Whatever."

"Oh, there we go." He proceeded to take several pictures as the light changed, watching the sky and not the viewscreen. "That one could be it." They watched silently for a few minutes more as the sun slipped below the horizon and the wooded area darkened quickly. "That was cool. We should probably get going."

"Yeah." They turned as they heard something coming through the trees and both snapped on flashlights, nearly blinding their father.

"Nice." He stopped and squinted at them, holding his hand out to guard his eyes.

"Sorry, Dad." Matt turned his flashlight off, and Becca followed his example.

"It's okay. You didn't do anything wrong."

His son shrugged. "Okay." Peter watched him for a minute, and then looked at Becca.

"Your mom wants help with dinner. Aunt Sara called and said they're fifteen minutes away."

The girl smiled up at him. "Cool! Wait till Rafe sees the guitar rock." She turned her flashlight back on as she left the open space for the darker shade of the wood. When she'd walked a few paces in, she turned and looked at Matt for a second, gave him a smile, and went on after he nodded at her.

Peter, who had been watching out over the trail during the exchange, stretched in the cool evening air. "Nice night."

"Yeah."

"You warm enough?"

"I'm fine."

Mentally, Peter pounded his head against a nearby tree as Matt carefully repacked his camera. He looked skyward for guidance, and saw the first stars begin to shine. He thanked the powers that be for inspiration. "Hey. You want to try to get some star shots tonight? You know Becca and Rafe are going to be in guitar heaven. We could go over to the ridge, check it out, try for the North Star swirl."

His son looked up into the darkness, his features nearly impossible to make out clearly now. After a minute he nodded. "Yeah. Looks like a good night for it."

"Great." As Matt snapped on his light and walked past him into the woods, Peter couldn't help but remember a much younger version of this person… one who could talk to him as easily as he did to Elizabeth. One who would have been completely comfortable with his father draping an arm over his shoulder as they walked back to camp. _When did that change? Is it gone forever?_ Something sad and yes, a little angry formed in his chest, and he tried to imagine how to bring that time back. But maybe bringing it back wasn't possible… maybe there had to be some way forward.

He didn't realize he hadn't moved until a light played across the ground in front of him. "Dad? You coming?"

"Yeah. Sorry." He took a deep breath, and walked into the dark forest with his son.

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p><em>…please feed the author…<em>


	8. Future Perfect: Revelation

…_this comes right after Father and Son._

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

_**Future Perfect: Revelation**_

oOo

* * *

><p>Neal spoke quietly, standing at the picnic table between the two campsites. "You want me to come along?"<p>

Peter shrugged, then shook his head. "Thanks, but I think I need to talk to him alone."

"Just take it easy. You know Matty loves you. I'm sure it'll be fine."

Peter looked back toward the fire ring, where their wives were chatting, Becca and Rafe were working on a Bach invention on their guitars, and Matt was standing stoically with his camera bag, waiting. He let out a breath. "I hope so. I just wish I knew what was going on."

His friend put a hand on his shoulder and they exchanged a glance that spoke volumes about how hard they were trying to be the fathers that their sons deserved.

Peter walked over to Matt. "You ready?"

"Yeah."

"Wait." Elizabeth held out a comforter as they started off. "Here." She was met with two matching brown-eyed stares.

"We don't need a blanket, Mom."

"It's not cold."

Elizabeth gave an exasperated sigh. "It's not for you. It's for under where you're setting the camera. So it stays dry, yes?"

The men looked at each other and shrugged. "Okay." Peter leaned over and kissed Elizabeth. "Don't wait up."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>Forty-five minutes later the two had hiked up to a high grassy hill, and were stretched out on the blanket staring up at the stars as they waited for the first test focus to finish. Peter took a deep breath and broke the silence.<p>

"How long do you want to wait for the first exposure?"

Matt looked at his watch. "I think another fifteen, anyway. We should know by then."

"Okay." Peter searched the sky for familiar constellations. "Is that Sagittarius?" He pointed in the dark, and heard his son sigh.

"Uh, Dad? I can't see where you're pointing."

"Ah. Good point."

"Or bad point. I really couldn't tell from here…"

Peter rolled sideways and looked over at his son. He flicked on his flashlight and aimed it at his hand, stretching his arm straight up, pointing. "There. Is that Sagittarius?" He kept a straight face. "Maybe?"

Matt turned his flashlight to illuminate his face. "Dad. You're kidding."

"What?"

His son sighed again. "That's _Scorpio_."

Peter brought the flashlight closer to his own face. "You know, I'd almost be ready to believe you - if you had actually _looked_."

They stared at each other for a long moment before they both started laughing. Peter felt his heart lift. At least connecting was still possible. They settled down to watch again, and it grew quiet once more, but in a slightly more comfortable way. After a few minutes, Matt got up to check the camera.

"Hey, check this out."

Peter got up and moved over to the tripod. The screen showed a barely moved point surrounded by short arcs. "Wow. Pretty close." He looked at his son. "What do you think?"

"I think another degree or two… that way." He adjusted the camera minutely and reset the timed exposure. "So now we wait."

"How long?"

"I think I'd like to try the full hour. I've got it set for three, but we can stop it anytime."

"Sounds good." Peter lay back down and waited for Matt to do the same. It took a few minutes. "You okay, kiddo?"

"…Yeah." Matt sat down on the blanket. "Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you."

"Okay." Peter waited. His eyes had adjusted enough to the dim light to see that Matt was fiddling with a piece of grass. "Is anything wrong?"

"Kind of. I just think that you're going to be mad."

Peter took a deep breath and sat up next to his son. "Well, why don't you tell me what's going on."

"Promise you won't yell?"

"I can't promise I won't be upset. But I promise I won't yell."

The boy exhaled. "Okay." He shifted slightly, staring down at the blanket. "I don't think I want to play baseball anymore."

Peter stared at him for a moment, confused. "You don't want to play ball? I thought –"

"I just don't want to, Dad. It's… I don't."

"But - you were just saying a couple months ago how excited you were to go to the camp this summer, work on things before you start high school -"

"I don't. Not now." The voice was strained, even through the early adolescent crack, and Peter was startled to hear how fearful it sounded. The father reached over and put a hand on his son's shoulder.

"Mattie, you don't have to play baseball. Don't get me wrong, I think you're really good… but I don't want you to do something you hate just because I like it."

There was a long pause. "I don't _hate_ it."

Peter frowned in the darkness. There was a world of indecision in his son's tone, and something more that wasn't being said. "I _would_ like to know what changed your mind in the last two months. You seemed to be enjoying it, at least from what your coach told me. He said you were doing great."

There was a sniff in the dark. "I just don't think… I…"

He rubbed a hand over the boy's arm. "Matt. It's okay, whatever it is. We'll work it out. Just tell me what's going on."

The boy took a deep breath and blurted out the sentence. "I think I might be more like Aunt Christie than you."

Peter was rendered speechless before he realized he had to say _something_, and quickly. "It's okay." He shifted to drape an arm over Matt's shoulder. "That doesn't make any difference. You're my son and I love you." Matt turned his face into his father's shoulder and did his best not to cry as they sat for a few minutes. "Listen… did you figure this out because Aunt Christie's been tutoring you in science this month?" The boy nodded, still unable to speak. "Okay. Matt, it's okay. I promise."

Matt spoke unsteadily. "Its just that it's so much easier for me." Peter frowned into the darkness, listening. "And I know sports are so important to you, and I was afraid you'd be really mad if I liked medicine and science better, or if I was more interested in that then what's important to you…"

It took a moment. Peter realized what he was hearing and shuffled the context in his mind to fit. Wrapping his arms around his son, he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Listen, kiddo. You can be anything you like. You don't have to do sports, heck, you don't even have to be a doctor like Aunt Christie if you don't want to. You can be an artist. You can be a photographer. You can… do anything. And you don't even have to decide yet." He shook his head and looked skyward. "Are you going to tell me that you were worried about even _telling_ me about something you're interested in because you thought I might not like it?" There was a nod against his chest. "Well, that's crazy. Don't do that again. Don't do that for anybody."

A very small voice answered. "Okay." There was another sniffle. "I really do like it. And Aunt Christie thinks I'm good… she says I'm good at figuring things out…"

His father shook his head dubiously, thinking of himself at age thirteen. "And you really thought I might be disappointed because my son might want to be a doctor, to help people, to do something that important?"

There was a small, nervous, yet somehow incredibly relieved giggle. "Maybe."

"I see." He ran a hand over his son's head. He hugged him close and spoke seriously. "I wish you would have told me sooner, instead of letting this eat you up. Nothing's so big that you have to be afraid to tell me. Okay?" His son nodded against his chest, and they sat quietly under the stars for a long time, eventually lying back to watch once more.

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>Early the next morning Elizabeth and Becca hiked up the hill and found the two snoring quietly, wrapped in the blanket, Matt asleep on Peter's shoulder. Becca turned to her mother with an adult sigh. "Well, you were right."<p>

"Yes. I'm afraid it's a burden for the women in our family."

Her daughter giggled. "Should we wake them up?"

"Soon." Elizabeth walked over to the camera and touched the review button. On the screen was a swirling starfield, centered on a single small circle. She smiled at the picture and back down at her husband and son. "Looks like they got it just right."

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

oOoOo

oOo

* * *

><p>…<em>please feed the author…<em>


	9. Future Perfect:  The First Time

_...and now a bit of the past, by way of the future… set before 'Modest Proposal'. I cannot tell a lie; I really, really like this one. I hope you do, too.  
><em>

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

_**Future Perfect: The First Time**_

oOo

* * *

><p>Peter read the memo on his monitor, sat back and looked across the desk at his partner. <em>Partner<em>. There was no second-guessing it now.

With only the _occasional_ set back, Neal had served out his time, and decided that he wanted to stay on as a full consultant with the FBI, if they would have him. But - and only a very select few knew this side of the story – only if he could continue on as Peter's sidekick.

Hughes had mumbled a bit about his salary requirements but in the end, there wasn't much he could say. The numbers that the pair had produced, the cases they had single-handedly cleaned up, gave their unit the best success rating in the country.

Agent Burke shook his head at his partner and grinned. "So, Neal. How about you and Sara come over for dinner tonight?"

Neal looked up from the file he was perusing and blinked. "What's the occasion?"

"Well, it's your last week on the anklet, for one."

The younger man nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Yeah… I'd be a little happier if I knew what happens next."

"I know. But how about tonight, we celebrate."

Neal nodded, pulling out his cell phone. "I'll have to see if Sara can make it."

"You do that."

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>Later that evening, as the foursome sat down to one of Elizabeth's gourmet dinners, Peter lifted his wine glass solemnly. "I'd like to propose a toast."<p>

Conversation stopped as the others picked up their glasses. Sara and Neal smiled politely, but Elizabeth was suddenly glowing happily at her husband. He gave her a grin and went on. "Neal, congratulations. You've paid your debt in full, and I have clearance from the marshals to use this for the last time this evening." He held up the small keycard that opened Neal's anklet. "Allow me." With a practiced motion he put down his glass, leaned over and keyed the anklet, slipping it off his friend. Lifting his glass once more, he tossed the anklet over his shoulder dramatically. "Congratulations. You're a free man." He smirked and added, "Let's keep it that way."

They toasted and drank, and Sara kissed him affectionately. He looked at her for a long moment before looking back to his friend. "Thank you, Peter. It's been amazing… "

"But you'd like to know what happens next."

"True."

Peter's grin grew. "Well, I know." He leaned over to speak quietly. "It's been okayed. _We've_ been okayed. You're officially a freelance consult for the FBI… directly attached to my team." He stood up and stepped around the table, formally extending a hand. "Let me be the first to welcome you back to the team, Mr. Caffrey."

After a moment of shock, a megawatt bright smile lit Neal's face as he stood to shake Peter's hand. "Why, thank you, Agent Burke. I look forward to our continued success…"

"As do I. Just remember, I'm still in charge." They held their serious expressions for a moment more before Peter laughed and gave him a hug, clapping him on the back. "Good for you, Neal." He pulled back, one hand on the younger man's shoulder. "It's all ahead of you now. The whole world." He shook his head. "I couldn't be more proud."

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>After dinner the men were clearing the table and tidying in the kitchen, while the women took their wineglasses out onto the patio in the clear summer night. Peter couldn't help but notice how quiet Neal was as they rinsed dishes. "You all right?"<p>

"What? Oh, yeah, sorry…"

The agent frowned, scraping some scraps into Satchmo's dish. "I'd think you'd be the happiest man alive right now. What's wrong?"

Neal began to shake his head dismissively, but stopped, and looked at the man who had become mentor, partner, and best friend. Wringing the dishtowel in his hands, he leaned back against the counter top. "You told me once about when El moved in…"

Peter chuckled. "Yeah, I remember. What about it? – Oh." His eyes warmed as he looked at his friend. "You're thinking about asking Sara to move in for real this time?"

"Well… I mean… Thinking about how we could progress, I guess… I'm not sure how I would go about it. We backed off on the relationship for so long, and now…"

"You're not sure how she feels?"

"I don't know. Sometimes… sometimes I'm not even sure how I feel." He reached over to where he had set down his glass, before blue eyes lifted to the brown. "How did you know?"

"How did I know I wanted Elizabeth to move in?"

"No. How did you know…"

The smallest grin pulled at Peter's mouth as he opened the refrigerator and put away leftovers. "Ah. How did I know this was it? How did I know I wanted forever, and not just right now?"

"Yeah." The vulnerable expression in his partner's face touched his heart. "How do you know?"

They sat down at the kitchen table, and Peter remained quietly thoughtful as they sipped for a few moments.

Eventually he picked up the wine bottle, refilling their glasses, and finally spoke.

"I knew the first time…"

"The first time?"

"We'd been dating for about a month, I guess… we'd just cracked a big case at the office, and I had the team over for a party. She was amazing… just taking care of people, making it so clear that it was my day and that she was proud of me… " Peter blinked back to the present. He turned to look at Neal. "You have to trust what you feel. No one can answer the question but you…" His brown eyes sparkled intently. "It was... it was an amazing night."

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>The women sat out under the stars, enjoying the evening air. Elizabeth chuckled. "Nice to have the menfolk offer to take care of things, isn't it?"<p>

"Seriously. I feel like we should be having cigars and brandy…"

They laughed together, and as the sound faded Sara turned to her friend. "Oh, Elizabeth. I just don't know what to do."

"With Neal? I thought you two were doing so well?" Elizabeth's eyes glimmered blue in the light coming through the windows. "You seem happy."

"Yes, but this week…"

"He's off the anklet, I know! It must be exciting, knowing he'll be free…"

"Yes, but…"

El watched her carefully. "Oh. He's free… and you don't want to tie him down after he's been 'stuck' all this time. Sara, he's not going to feel stuck with you."

Sara pushed back her auburn hair and shook her head. "I just don't know, El. I want him to be happy, you know? So I'm trying not to push… But I hope he knows how I feel..." She let out a deep sigh. "How did you know?"

Elizabeth laughed. "Know?"

"Yes. You know what I mean. How did you know that it would work with Peter? How did you know he was the one?"

Elizabeth's gaze softened as she glanced out the window, thoughtfully, her smile lighting her eyes. "I knew the first time…"

"The first time? You mean –"

"Well, there was a party at his apartment… we'd been dating for a month, almost exactly…"

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

oOoOo

oOo

* * *

><p><em> The last of the company called goodbye as they trailed out of Peter's apartment, and Elizabeth glanced at her date from across the room. He was absently gathering up plates, his expression thoughtful but happy. She knew that look. It usually meant that he was putting together information, working things out in his mind, and watching the pictures as they changed. A gentle smile brightened her eyes as she observed the man. It was a great look for him – and she couldn't remember ever seeing him look happier.<br>She began collecting wine glasses, and he turned toward her._

_"Hey. You don't have to do that. I can do it in the morning."_

_"Of course you can. Or I can just do it now." She blinked coyly at him. "There aren't many left. I'm just going to put them in the sink, anyway. Then I'll get out of here so you can get some sleep. You must be exhausted, between the press conference today and the party."_

_"Actually, I'm feeling pretty good."_

_"Just because you're still buzzing from the case being closed. Trust me, you'll be asleep before your head hits the pillow."  
>She had stepped into the kitchen and was untangling the stems of wineglasses from her hand to place them on the counter when with a gasp, she nearly dropped the last one. Strong arms had wrapped around her waist, holding her tight, and she felt breath warm on her neck as he whispered.<em>

_"El."_

_She shivered, turning in his arms to face him, and their lips met softly. Smiling up at him, she rested her hands on his chest. "Tonight was great, Peter. I think everyone really enjoyed it-"_

_He cut her off with another kiss, pressing her back against the counter. When he eventually relented, his eyes were dark, his voice soft. "Stay with me tonight."_

_Her eyebrows lifted for a moment, and then she blinked in surprise. They hadn't spent a night together yet, at least one that didn't involve debriefings about her art gallery case and several other people. Still, there was no denying the desire they felt, regardless of how slowly they wanted to take things, or how busy their schedules were…_

_The tall agent read into her hesitation, and pulled back, ever so slightly. "But only… only if you want to…"_

_Elizabeth watched his eyes. For a moment, an unsteady concern had flickered through them, and she nearly smiled. Some men wore their hearts on their sleeves. This one wore his heart in ridiculously expressive brown eyes. She knew at a glance that even after a month of being a couple, he wasn't sure how she would take to the suggestion, and he would go along with whatever she wanted… She lifted a hand to stroke his cheek, and he watched her, waiting. Abruptly shy, she took her hand away and looked down for a moment before smiling up at him, speaking quietly. "I'd love to."_

_He took her face in his hands and watched her for a long moment, studying her as if she were a piece of fine art, or he might never see her again. There was something so tender, so intent in his gaze that her breath caught, and she trembled in his arms when he ran a finger over her forehead to brush a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. "I love you, El."_

_She let out a breath. "I love you, too."_

_He leaned in to kiss her but waited, his lips hovering over hers, his breath warm on her skin… and she smiled. He was waiting for her. Just to be sure. The power he put so easily in her hands made her suddenly feel as confident as she had felt shy a moment before, and she wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him to her, and they kissed._

_Many minutes later they looked again into each other's eyes, their breathing a little ragged, knowing a line had been crossed and they were well on their way into uncharted territory. Peter took a deep breath, sweet concern in his expression. "You okay?"_

_Her eyes were bright as she giggled. "I can take it if you can."_

_Laughing, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to his bedroom._

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

oOoOo

oOo

* * *

><p>"I guess you just know. I knew the first time I told her I loved her."<p>

* * *

><p>"I knew as soon as he said it. You have to feel it, Sara. Trust me, you'll know."<p>

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>That night, after their company had left, Elizabeth stood looking out their bedroom window, brushing her hair thoughtfully. Peter walked in and kissed her, handing her a little bouquet of forget-me-nots. "I found these in the back yard after I walked Satch."<p>

"Oh, Peter. They're lovely." She held the flowers up and inhaled the sweet, musky scent.

"Not as lovely as you…" He took the brush and flowers from her and set them on the nightstand. Taking her hands in his, he spoke softly to her. "El… do you remember…"

She looked up into his eyes, surprise sparkling in her voice. "…the first time?" They kissed, gently, the warm ease that they shared making their love for each other clear. "Always."

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>The window stayed open to the night, letting laughter float on the evening breeze, giving new music to rhythms as old as life.<p>

Moonlight trickled over skin like water, spilling onto sheets and gathering in luminous pools on the floor. In the darkness eyes sparkled with it, unshed tears that were turned to precious crystals kissed gently away.

In the soft light before dawn there was love, and laughter.

Just like the first time.

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>…<em>if you enjoyed this tale, please feed the author…<em>


	10. Future Perfect:  A June Yenta

_This is a tale from the time between… Neal is working for the FBI as an independent, yet he and Sara have not exactly made up, at least not as a couple. Yet._

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

_**Future Perfect: A June Yenta**_

oOo

* * *

><p>Neal stopped on the landing as he walked wearily up the stairs to his apartment, and looked out the window. Of <em>course<em> the coded exit system at work would be out on a day like today, making it hard for him to leave. And of course the alarm system here at the house would seem to have the same problem letting him in.

Not only had the meeting with Hughes at the agency gone long, but the heads-up meeting - when they reviewed all the cases that were in the wings – had made it absolutely clear that there was going to be _another_ meeting afterwards. It was late, and the rain had come down in buckets almost all day, adding to the general gray mood. And of _course_ he had chosen to walk this particular day, as well. His shoes were soaked, his knee hurt from when he had taken a fall earlier that week chasing a suspect, his head hurt on general principles, and his landlady was evidently waiting up in his apartment. 

_That's right,_ he thought. _I was supposed to help her move some furniture tonight. _ _She's going to be ticked._ He shook his head and leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window. _Maybe not as ticked as Hughes was when I told him I finally had to get going, but ticked. Not that she'll show it._

He stared out the window into the dark, looking up at the stars for a moment as the pain settled out of his leg. The moon was a bright crescent in a now amazingly clear, rain-washed sky. He took a deep breath and blew it out, giving the celestial show a grateful smile before heading up the last flight.

At the top of the stairs he paused, fumbling through pockets for his keys, and heard laughter. Curious, he moved closer to his door. He recognized his landlady's laugh from a mile away, but there was someone else in his apartment, clearly female, and it didn't really sound like Samantha, or even Cindy. Whoever it was, they were certainly amused. He opened the door slowly. "Hello?" He looked in at the kitchen area of his loft and didn't quite manage to keep the shocked look off his face.

Sitting at the kitchen table across from his landlady was a woman wearing a pair of _his_ sweat pants and one of _his_ favorite shirts. She looked up at him, still laughing at something his landlady had said, and then down at what she was wearing, covering her face with her hand. "Oh, good Lord. Neal. I am _so_ sorry –"

"Don't apologize to him, dear. _I'm_ the one who gave you the clothes."

"Yes, but really, Ms. –"

"Sara, please. Call me June." She stood up to greet Neal, who was still looking a bit stunned. She reached up to brush his cheek with her hand affectionately. "Hello, dear. You look exhausted. Hungry?" Neal blinked at her, frowned, opened his mouth to speak and stopped, frowning again. She gazed calmly at him, then nodded. "So it was that kind of day, was it? All right. Why don't you go hop in the shower, and I'll warm up the pasta for you. Would you like some wine?"

Neal stared at her, then turned his head to stare at Sara. The woman blinked hazel green eyes at him and sipped a glass of merlot delicately with a grin. "It's really good, Neal. You'll like it."

He found his voice, finally. "I'm sure I will." He looked back at his landlady, who was giving him a familiar smirk, and shook his head at her. Leaning over to give her a kiss on the forehead, he whispered near her ear. "This better be a good story." She chuckled lightly as she patted his cheek again and moved over to the stove. Glancing briefly back at Sara with puzzled blue eyes, he shook his head and wandered off to his bedroom.

Sara grinned at his landlady. "I don't suppose that was exactly fair."

"Why?"

"Well… I mean, it's not that we're not speaking, or not able to be friends… but still. Me sitting here in his clothes must have been a bit of a shock."

"Oh, he'll be fine. More wine?" June was refilling her glass before she nodded.

"Honestly, Ms – June. Good thing I took a cab."

"Oh, I'm sure you can stay here."

"I'm not sure how Neal would feel about that…"

Neal's landlady laughed. "Oh, please. You think he'd let anyone _not_ stay if he was worried?" She shook her head as Sara grinned. "_How_ long have you known him?"

"I know, you're right. But I'm fine… and I don't want to make it any more awkward than it already is."

June saw Sara glance nervously toward the bedroom door. "I know, dear. Can you get him a glass, please?"

A few minutes later, Neal wandered out of his bedroom, still toweling off his hair in an outfit that came close to matching what Sara was wearing. He took the glass that his landlady held out to him, and sat down at the table. "So. You ladies want to tell me how I came to have two such _charming_ dinner companions… in my apartment at the same time?"

Sara rolled her eyes. "It's my fault, really. I stopped at the store to get some mozzarella, and I saw June, and thought I recognized her… and we started chatting, standing under this awning in the rain…"

June took over. "Oh, it was _pouring_. And we were having a lovely conversation, and this truck went by –" She looked at Neal as his eyes widened. "We were fine, of course, but Sara was in front of me, and got absolutely drenched with muddy water. I told her she had to come with me to get clean and dry. It was a bit of a near thing, but I managed to talk her into it."

Neal looked back to Sara, imagining how that discussion might have gone. She smiled at him. "So… I came back here. And my things should be out of the dryer soon."

June moved from the stove with a plate of shrimp and asparagus swimming in garlic butter over linguine and put it in on the table in front of Neal. "I'm going to go check her clothes now."

"But June, I can –" Sara wasn't able to stand up before June stopped her.

"No, you keep each other company. Make sure he eats. I'll be right back."

She slipped out the door and it was quiet for a few moments in the roomy apartment. Neal looked at Sara and shook his head. "She tends to take over. Just a little."

"Yeah, I wondered how she kept up with you." He rolled his eyes and she went on, smiling. "I think she's great."

"I do, too." He tasted the pasta and smiled. "Not to mention the food's always excellent when she stops in."

Sara practically snorted into her wineglass. "No kidding. Good thing she doesn't cook for you that often. You'd have to work out three hours a day just to use up her cooking." He grinned at her and she was more pleased than she would have imagined to see him looking relaxed. She almost didn't want to ask. "So… how is it going?"

He shrugged, took his time answering. "They're accepting me as a consultant. Some people still don't quite trust me." His eyes darted to hers and away. After a moment, he shook his head and sipped his wine. "It'll be okay."

"I'm sure it will. You're good at working people." Her eyes widened for a moment, and she hurried to add, "I mean _with_ people. In a good way. Really."

He grinned down at the table with something between shyness and amusement on his face before lifting his eyes to look at her. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." They looked at each other for a long moment before Neal nodded, a smile quirking his lips, and returned to eating.

June walked back in, breaking the pleasant but slightly awkward silence as he finished his pasta. "Looks like you're here for a bit longer, Sara. Evidently the circuit that took out the alarm system took out the dryer with it. A very nice man is fixing it, but said it would probably be another hour or two."

She took Neal's plate and moved to the sink. Or tried to. Sara was on her feet and Neal had taken the plate back before she really got a chance.

"No way. You do _not_ get to cook dinner _and_ clean up. House rules."

"Don't be silly, you've been working-"

"June." Landlady and con man attempted to stare each other down as he held the plate up out of her reach. Eventually he gave her a smug laugh, his smile bright. "You're gonna lose this one. Trust me."

She shook her head and laughed at his expression, throwing up her hand dramatically. "Fine. Who am I to argue with my most loyal boarder?"

"Excellent question, I've always wondered that…" She smacked him on the behind with a throaty chuckle before she walked away, taking her wine glass and glancing at her watch.

"The _Daily Show_ is coming on, anyway. I'll go visit with Jon for a while."

Sara giggled, and Neal turned to look at her. "You can keep her company."

"Nope. You don't get to have your landlady feed and clothe me _and_ clean up alone."

"Sara…"

"House rules."

She gave him a hard look and he dropped into the same stare he had used on his landlady.

"You'll lose."

Sara shook her head, stepping closer. "I doubt it." They were a hands-breadth apart, staring with grim determination into each others eyes.

Then there was a moment, just a _moment_, when the joke faltered and Sara felt herself wondering what would happen if she leaned just a bit closer… something in her gaze softened with genuine affection for the man standing so near, smelling so wonderful, looking so… Neal suddenly blinked and swallowed hard, looking toward the sink.

"Okay, you win. I'll wash, you dry."

She nodded quickly and grabbed the towel that hung from the stove. "Sounds good." For a while it was quiet as they worked with easy efficiency.

Listening outside the door, a landlady stood and wondered if she'd actually have to hit them both over the head with something before they could see what was standing right in front of them. With half an ear she heard joking conversation start up again, and smiled. _Ah, well._ _ They'll figure it out._

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>…<em>please feed the author…<em>


	11. Future Perfect: A Late Night

_and now, a time warp. Let's say... fifteen years or so beyond..._

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

oOoOo

oOo

* * *

><p>Peter sat in the dark living room, staring out toward the front window. A flash of headlights finally rolled across the room and he squinted against them, hands tightening into fists as he shook his head, wondered how long he could keep from yelling. He had promised Elizabeth that he wouldn't yell, but the later it got, the worse he felt. He wished she hadn't talked him into doing this alone.<p>

oOo

_"There's something going on with Mattie and that girl, Peter. I can tell."_

_"Did he say so?"_

_"No. I just think… maybe he needs to talk to you."_

_"Me? I don't know. We haven't really been talking lately."_

_She appeared to ignore the tone behind his statement, and nodded. "All the more reason to, then. Just be nice."_

_"I'm always nice."_

_She smiled at his affronted look and kissed his nose. "I know, dear."_

oOo

He heard the back door open, close, heard a lock clicking. Then, keys in the bowl on the counter. He inhaled a breath to call, but Matt walked into the living room.

"Dad? That you?"

"Yes."

"Where's Mom?"

He fought the urge to get up and shake the seventeen year-old by the shoulders. "Are you kidding? Do you have any idea what time it is?"

He heard a sigh in the darkness, and his son walked over, sitting on the couch near his father's chair. "Yeah. I'm really sorry."

"This is the _third_ time in two weeks. If you can't respect the house rules about when you're supposed to be home, then –"

"Dad?"

Something in his son's voice cut through his anger. He paused, staring at the darker shadow of his son in the dark room. "What." There was no answer, although he heard the boy take a shallow breath, sounding a little ragged. His shoulders tightened as he felt the wave of worry hit. "Matt? What's going on?"

The voice was smaller, somehow, and quiet. "I'm sorry I was late."

Peter waited, realized he was going to have to milk this conversation out of him. He wished again that El had stayed up. "You have a reason for it?"

"Yeah."

"You went to Sandy's after work?"

"Yeah."

"All three times?" Sometimes Peter hated his experience in interrogation.

"Yeah."

"When you know that you've only got the night license for working? When we _told_ you that –"

"She's pregnant."

There was another pause, longer. More silent, somehow. Peter's hand darted to the side table and snapped on the reading lamp, his dark eyes flashing in the light. "Is it _yours_?" He stared at the downcast face of his son, who eventually looked up to meet his father's eyes, an oddly familiar defiance echoing between their expressions.

"No."

"Listen, Matt. If it's yours, then you have to take responsibility -"

"It's not _mine_, okay?" The words came out a bit louder than the boy would have liked, a little more out of control.

Peter shook his head, keeping his anger in check. "How can you be sure?"

Matt croaked an ironic little laugh, his head dropping back as he looked at the ceiling. "Because I believe you actually have to have sex with someone for that to happen, and I was being absolutely fine about her wanting to wait until 'she was really ready', even after she…" he trailed off, his voice cracking a bit.

The FBI agent exhaled a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "I see." The relief that he felt evaporated as he saw tears in the eyes of the young man in front of him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his son cry.

"It's just… I really… I really liked her, Dad. I thought we were… I mean, I didn't mind waiting because I really thought…" He stopped abruptly, pushed his hands back through his hair. "She's only a month along, and we've been seeing each other for almost two." He stopped, looked down at the rug again, his shoulders shaking. "I'm such an idiot. I feel so stupid."

Peter stood up and moved to sit on the couch next to his son. He hesitated a moment, then threw an arm across the boy's shoulders. Matt didn't exactly lean on him, but sort of slouched in his direction. For a moment they sat there, until Peter spoke softly. "You're not stupid." The boy continued his story, not really hearing.

"She told me last week that she needed to talk to me, tell me something important… but when I came over, both times she just wouldn't tell me what was going on. Tonight I showed up at her house, and Randy Bennett was just leaving." He wiped the sleeve of his coat across his face and took another breath. "So she told me. Flat out. Because evidently Randy kind of freaked out. And her parents just found out, and they said they won't throw her out of the house _yet_, but they're not speaking to her right now."

Peter took a breath, thoughtfully, and rubbed his hand over his son's arm. He paused a while before speaking. "So. What'd you do?"

Matt coughed a self-deprecating laugh, his eyes still downcast. "I told her that we're finished, but if she needed anything she should call me." He turned to look at his father with deep brown eyes, wet like stone on a rainy day. "I mean, no matter what, no one should have to go through that alone, right?"

The father restrained himself from hugging the boy until he broke him in half. Instead he just stared, expressionless, until his son finally lifted his eyebrows in a confused frown, quite reminiscent of his father's. "What?"

Peter took a deep breath. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. "I want you to know, Matthew. I'm very proud of you." He pulled Matt into a hug and took a breath, ruffling the boy's hair as if he were much younger. They sat there for a couple minutes, both turning when they heard a quiet cough at the door.

"Everyone okay in here?"

"Yeah, Mom."

She looked at his tear-streaked face and then at her husband. Her eyebrows peaked. "You sure?"

"It's all good, El."

"Well… okay." Peter nodded imperceptibly at her, and she smiled gamely. "Then, since we're all up anyway, how about some hot chocolate?"

The men looked at each other and Matt shrugged. "Sounds good, Mom."

"Okay. Good." She walked into the kitchen, and the men stood up to follow.

Matthew stopped to wipe a sleeve across his face again, take a deep breath, and push back his hair.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"…Thanks."

Peter sighed. "Don't thank me yet. You're still grounded." He tried to look sternly at his son, but couldn't really hold it long before he started to smile.

"Yeah, I figured." Matt gave a resigned grin in return. "Nowhere I really want to go right now, anyway."

Peter watched as the boy walked ahead of him into the kitchen and shook his head. Then he caught Elizabeth looking back toward him with a steady gaze before she turned back to the stove. Walking behind her as he came in to help, he rested his hands briefly at her waist and whispered in her ear. "Fine. You were right. No need to gloat."

She grinned and leaned back to kiss him. "Please. I never gloat. It would get boring." He gave her a look that she ignored deftly. "Mattie, can you please get the cookies from that shelf?"

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>…<em>please feed the author…<em>


	12. Future Perfect: If I Fell Again

_...again, the time between. After 'June Yenta', but not very long after._

_Many thanks to those who have come along for this ride... I really appreciate it._

* * *

><p><strong>oOo<strong>

**_Future Perfect: If I Fell Again_**

**oOo**

* * *

><p>Pulling up to the curb outside the building, Sara turned off the car but left the radio on, listening as she stared blankly at the beautiful old mansion.<p>

_If I fell in love with you  
>Would you promise to be true<br>And help me understand  
>'cause I've been in love before<br>And I found that love was more  
>Than just holding hands<em>

_If I give my heart to you_  
><em>I must be sure<em>  
><em>From the very start –<em>

She snapped off the music, shook her head and sighed. Too many thoughts were running around today to let them linger in any one place. Especially _that_ place. Gathering up her things she locked the car, trotted up the stairs and rang the bell.

"Just a minute." A lovely older woman, her dark hair shimmering silver, opened the door and smiled warmly at her. "Hello, Sara. Come on in."

"Hello, Mrs –" She was stopped by a look of teacherly proportions. "Sorry. Hi, June." They both smiled, since it was a habit that was hard for Sara to break. "I hope you know it's completely out of respect for you, and not an age thing or anything… at all… " She shook her head, realizing she was only making it worse; but Neal's landlady just laughed.

"Yes, dear, so you've said. Keep trying, you'll get it eventually." The older woman gave a teasing grin as she patted the younger on the arm. "The kettle's on. Grab some tea. I'm about half done."

"Done? I thought you were just going to show me how –"

"Oh, it's no bother. And rolling a hem is tricky if you haven't done it before."

"I feel bad, though, June. I thought –"

"Young lady." The teacherly look returned. "Your assignment is to keep me company while I do this. So get to work."

Sara grinned and went to get a mug. It was strange. She'd been staying away from this house for months, avoiding Neal… but she and June somehow kept bumping into each other. Last week it was the market, and it had only been a couple days since they ran into each other at the dress shop, where June assured her that not only was the dress she tried on 'perfection', but that she could easily hem it herself. _'Forty-five dollars for a hem? Ridiculous!'_ were her exact words. Then Sara made the mistake of telling her that she was trying to replace a dress that had been damaged while she was out on a date, and that ended up with them stopping at a little bistro for a glass of wine and a salad… and before Sara quite knew what had happened, she was agreeing to learn how to fix her own dress. June was so sweet, and so easy to talk to. It was almost like having a mother around again…

And talking to someone seemed to be just what she needed right now. Dating, since she and Neal ended their relationship, had not been going well. The Beatles echoed in her head as she poured water in the cup, and she fumbled for a tea bag, glad for a distraction. "Oh! You have Earl Grey. My favorite."

"Yes," June said as she sat down at the sewing machine that was currently on the dining room table and slipped on a pair of reading glasses. "Neal mentioned it was, and we picked some up when he took me shopping last week."

Her eyes widened. _So much for a distraction. _ "He did?"

June looked at her innocently. "He's rather observant about these things. Come, sit. Tell me how you tore this poor dress. It really was awful."

Sara walked over and sat at the table, her finger running delicately around the edge of the mug. "Well... it was actually David's fault."

"David? Oh, yes. He was the idiot you mentioned in passing yesterday? That you dated for a while?"

The younger woman laughed. "Did I actually say 'idiot'? I try to avoid that kind of thing."

"You didn't have to actually say it. It was rather clear." She adjusted the edge of the fabric, seemingly absorbed by the task at hand as she made small talk. "So he ripped the hem of your dress? Was he being –" she mocked a horrified look, her hand dramatically placed on her chest – "forward?"

"No", Sara laughed. "Not at that moment, anyway." She sipped the fragrant brew and slipped into the past. "We were driving to his friend's house for dinner… We got into a fight. _Again_. I was so mad, that when I swept dramatically out of the car, I caught the eyelet on the seat belt latch, and… well. Tore that lovely eight inch gash." She sighed. "It was the perfect ending to a perfect day… and a not-so-perfect relationship."

"I'm sure." June turned and picked up a long strip of fabric. "You're lucky it wasn't vertical. As it was, I had to take off almost three inches."

"Do you think it will be long enough anymore?"

"Oh, I think so." June looked over her glasses. "Sometimes you have to cut off a fair amount of the old to make something that will work again."

Sara nodded. "I'm just worried that it won't be right."

The sewing machine hummed for a moment, and June stopped and looked at her again. "It'll be fine." She turned more of the hem over with nimble fingers. "Yes, this dress has lost a little of itself, but it's still quite lovely. That lace on the bottom was a little too fragile." She smiled as she started sewing again. "I think it actually looks better this way. It'll have a whole new life."

Sara sipped her tea again. "Well, I'm just glad it'll be wearable again. You're a peach to help me out with this. It's been in my closet for weeks, reminding me…"

"Of the idiot."

She laughed. "Yes. Of the idiot."

Suddenly the door opened and Neal walked in, eyes barely open, wearing sweats and staggering toward the kitchen. His landlady spoke without looking.

"There's coffee."

"Thanks." He walked over to get some, came back and kissed her on the top of the head before his eyes opened enough to see that Sara was sitting there. A flush began to rise, which matched the one on Sara's cheek nicely. "Oh, I'm sorry… I didn't mean to interrupt… June, you could have said." She chuckled, still sewing, and he went on. "Good morning, Sara. I'm just… ah…my coffeemaker's broken, and, ah…" He motioned vaguely toward the door, ducked out and came back in three minutes with his hair combed and a t-shirt on.

Sara smiled, pushed past her own blush, wondering, and yet knowing, exactly why she felt so awkward. She bit her lip as her mind tempted her to say _you know, I've actually seen you in less...although not recently..._

He smiled at her a bit uncertainly, an expression that turned into a rather adolescent frown when his landlady spoke.

"So Neal. Did you get the last of Josie's things out of your apartment yesterday?"

Neal stared at her, startled, and then looked quickly at Sara, who was wide-eyed but staring off in the distance, as if trying not to notice. "Ah, yeah."

"You did tell her you were going to return those shoes that she left –"

"Yes, June, I did. I put them in the mail yesterday."

"You mailed them? That anxious to not see her again?"

Neal narrowly avoided glaring at her. "It was easier."

"Well, I just don't want you to leave any loose ends." She picked up the scissors and snipped off a few threads. She turned to look at Sara. "I have to press this. You two keep each other company." She got up and walked into the back room, an innocent, preoccupied smile on her face.

Neal shook his head as she left, then glanced at Sara, then sipped his coffee.

Sara blinked at her mug, opened her mouth, closed it, and gulped her tea nervously. They were friends, or trying to be. They should be able to talk about this. "So… um… Josie is on tour again?" Neal's two month relationship with the dancer had been the talk of the office, according to Diana.

Neal rapped his knuckles against the back of the chair his landlady had so recently vacated. "Ah, no." He glanced back to her and failed to sound casual when he spoke. "We broke up." A moment of silence echoed around the room, until he forced a small laugh. "I know Peter's relieved. He never did like…"

Sara's eyebrows came together in a small frown. Knowing Neal as she did, Peter not approving must have hurt - and indeed, Neal's expression of young vulnerability as he spoke of it touched her, reminding her of different times.

She reached over instinctively and rested her hand on his for a moment. "Neal, I'm sorry." He looked at her hand, then lifted his gaze to her face intently, his blue eyes touched with gray and some undefined emotion. She felt a little dizzy as she pulled her hand back, a bit too quickly.

His voice, when he finally spoke again, was soft. "It was a mistake. It wasn't very pretty at the end. I guess it was never very pretty." They looked at each other for a long moment. "I'm not sorry it's over. I guess I jumped a little too soon." He stood up abruptly, taking his mug over to the coffeemaker, and she wasn't sure if he even realized he was speaking out loud when he added, "Sometimes you just want to know if it's possible for anyone to care about you. But then you realize… it's not just _anyone_ you want to care."

He turned back to her, and her eyes locked with his. This was part of the _new_ Neal, the man who had chosen a different path. She stood and took a couple steps toward him, stopping when they were only a foot apart.

"I know what you mean."

"Do you?" His eyes flashed sapphire as he stared into her, his voice almost harsh in the quiet of the kitchen. "Do you really, Sara?"

She swallowed hard, her eyes not leaving his. Slowly, she lifted her hand to stroke his cheek gently. The smallest smile touched her lips. "I think I do." The intensity of his gaze pierced her through, but she didn't flinch. He nodded thoughtfully, and then leaned closer to kiss her softly; his lips barely touching hers. She took a shuddering breath and whispered, "Neal. If I... if we... It... it can't be the same as it was."

"I know. I don't want it to be." His eyes brightened, and a smile came out like the sun from behind dark clouds. Taking her face in his hands he took a deep breath. "I promise. I want it to be better."

Their lips met once more, and a full minute passed before they looked, startled, toward a quiet cough.

June was watching them from the door. She shook her head, then smiled and walked in, holding the newly hemmed dress up and acting as if she had seen nothing unusual.

"All right then, Sara. It's different, so it may take a little getting used to… but I have a feeling this is going to work just fine."

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><p>oOo<p>

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><p><em>...please feed the author...<em>


	13. Future Perfect: Like Father, Like Son

_I believe it was Ultracape who asked the question to inspire this one… thanks!_

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><p>oOo<p>

oOoOo

oOo

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><p>"And that wraps up the museum case. I'm proud of you, people. This was great work. Clinton, Diana – your follow through on the leads we got from DC made this one of our best collars of the year. And of course, Neal… your insight and portrayal of the cheated artist was clearly excellent. As usual, we couldn't have done it without you… Neal?"<p>

Neal blinked distractedly, and looked up. As he realized the group was all staring at him he put on a broad smile, suddenly the image of modest gratitude. It was only Peter whose brow creased ever so slightly, recognizing the act; realizing that his partner was less than involved with the debriefing. He tried to ignore it as he continued.

"Okay, people. You've earned tomorrow off… and since Hughes left me in charge this week, I can actually give it to you."

"Sounds like someone's being groomed for a promotion." Clinton Jones rumbled in a mock whisper. Peter gave him a tight smile.

"Right. The day I'm stuck behind a desk is the day I quit. I can't let you guys have all the fun. Finish up the paper and let's all get out of here. Monday at 9 we'll see what's on our plates for this month." He pointed at Jones. "And you bring the donuts, wise guy…that's all. Thanks, everyone."

The group laughed and dispersed quickly, with many a compliment and handshake.

They were accustomed now to being the star players; to getting to the bottom of almost every case they were given. There was a universal respect for the team led by Peter Burke and Neal Caffrey (often called 'Butch and Sundance' behind their backs, if not 'Batman and Robin'), and every new kid coming up through the ranks fought to be able to work with them. Peter handled the attention largely by being oblivious to it; his interest had always been in the next job. Neal, for his part, still used charm to keep any distractions at arm's length.

Perhaps that's why Peter was so concerned this morning. Neal was clearly distracted, and not working his audience at all. They were so accustomed to it, it was almost disappointing. He waited until the rest of the group was gone before approaching his partner.

The silence settled in, and Neal stared at the paperwork in front of him, clearly not actually seeing it.

"Hey."

Neal glanced up at the agent, who was giving him a curious, brown-eyed frown.

"You okay?"

The younger man nodded, opened his mouth, reconsidered and closed it again, giving half a shrug and looking back down at the paperwork. Peter sat down opposite him and waited. Nothing happened.

"How's the family?"

Neal's eyes lifted from the page to look at his partner. "Sara's fine."

"And Rafe? Is he liking school? Becca says they all like Miss Barton."

Neal slouched back in his chair and tossed the pen he had been holding onto the table, blue eyes stormy. "I'm not sure. He's been getting into some trouble."

Peter chuckled. "Like father, like son, eh?" He turned to pick up a file and didn't see Neal's reaction. By the time he turned back, the consultant had a frozen, blank expression in place. "Kindergarten's an adjustment. I know Becca's having a lot more fun with it than Mattie did. We were worried for a while, with her starting younger, but-"

"Yeah."

Peter blinked at the abrupt response, watching as Neal stood and gathered his things. Clearly the man was completely distracted. "Ah… you two are still coming to dinner tonight?"

Neal nodded absently. "Right, that's tonight. We'll be there." He was at the door when Peter spoke again.

"Neal." The younger man looked over his shoulder. "Rafe'll be fine."

Shrugging a nod, his partner left the conference room and walked down to the bullpen. Peter watched after him with some concern, but was soon absorbed in the hundred tiny details of organizing his team. Besides, whatever was going on, they could talk tonight.

oOo

"Rafeee!" Becca Burke, age four and a half, came tearing down the stairs as soon as the doorbell rang.

Her brother, a much more mature seven, shook his head and called from where he sat reading in the family room. "Calm down, Bec. You're being a crazy person again."

His sister stuck her tongue out at him in passing, and got to the front door at the same time as her mother, who couldn't help smiling at her enthusiasm. "Rebecca… settle down."

"Mo-om!" The little girl shrugged her dark curls helplessly. "You know how I get. I'm just so _excitable_!" Elizabeth coughed a laugh. It was something Peter said about her so often that their little parrot of a daughter was now able to repeat it in _exactly_ the same tone. It caused El to smile broadly as she opened the door.

"Hi, guys! Come on in." She hugged Neal as he came through the door, barely able to get around Becca and Raphael before the little girl dragged her friend into the family room. "Dinner's just about ready. Hope you're hungry."

"Famished," Neal admitted. "We just don't eat as well when Sara's off on a job."

El gave him a sisterly grin and patted him on the head. "Aw. Poor baby. Missing his lady."

Neal shrugged, his hands in his pockets. "I'm the first to admit it; I'm still smitten." Blue eyes sparkled with wistful amusement. "But she'll be home tomorrow night, so I'll probably survive."

"This time, anyway…"

"Right."

They laughed and El led the way into the kitchen, where Peter was prepping food. "Hey, Neal. Glad you guys could make it."

"Well, thanks for having us. I know that Rafe always–"

Becca came running down the hallway and pulled on Neal's pant leg. "Uncle Neal!"

"Rebecca. You interrupted Uncle Neal." Peter lifted an eyebrow at his impetuous daughter, who sighed loudly.

"Sorry, 'scuse me, sorry." She ran the apology into the request, pulling on Neal's leg again. "Uncle Neal!" Peter rolled his eyes helplessly.

Holding back a laugh, Neal squatted down to her level. "Yes, Miss Burke?"

She leaned over and whispered something long and complicated into his ear. He nodded thoughtfully, biting his lip. "I see. And what did you want me to do about it?" She sighed, throwing her hands in the air dramatically, before beginning to whisper again. Neal glanced up at Peter and El, trying not to laugh. "Ah. Well, Becca, while I understand your frustration, I don't think I can force Raphael to marry you."

"Why not?" Behind her, Peter dropped his head and was shaking it slowly. Neal did his best to ignore him.

"It's just not polite, Becca. People have to decide for themselves who they want to marry. But I'll tell you what. How about, if once you're all grown up, you marry me instead?"

Becca stared at him, her hands pointedly on her hips for a moment before she shook a finger at him. "You caaan't, Uncle Neal. You're married to Aunt Sara."

"Hmmm…that's true. I suppose she _might_ be mad if I married you, too."

"Yeah." Becca looked at her mother and father, shaking her head theatrically. "Everybody 'round here is married 'cept me. It's just not _fair_." She turned to the door, and broke into a run back to the family room. "Rafe! I got another idea."

Once she was gone, they all laughed quietly, and Neal shook his head as he looked at Peter.

"So… I assume you already bought a shotgun for when she starts dating…"

"Dating? Good Lord. Don't even go there, Neal. I can hardly keep up now."

oOo

After dinner, El looked at Neal and Peter and smiled as their children chatted happily. "I have a feeling you boys have things to discuss."

They frowned identically at her. "We do?"

"Yes, dear. You both have that look. And since the gentlemen won the coin toss, the kids will be in the family room playing 'Mario Party 10' instead of watching 'Tangled'." She stood and leaned over to give Peter a kiss, speaking quietly. "I'll be back, unless you want me to stay with them."

Peter looked at Neal, leaving the decision to him. Neal took a deep breath, relieved in the firm knowledge that if he said he needed to talk to Peter alone, it wouldn't be a problem at all. "You can listen in, El. Maybe you'll have some advice for me."

She nodded, gave him a smile, and escorted the kids into the family room once more.

For a few moments it was quiet except for the clinking of plates and silverware, the running of water. Then Neal spoke, as if he and his partner had been talking all along. "I just don't know what to do."

"Why?"

"Sara's out of town… and Raphael came home yesterday with some stuff in his knapsack."

"What do you mean, 'some stuff'?"

Neal sighed, and put down the dishtowel and leaned back against the counter as El came back into the kitchen and refilled her wine glass. "He stole something."

"Stole something? What was it?"

Elizabeth shook her head, overruling her husband. "I doubt that he was trying to _steal_ something, Neal. What happened?"

"Well, we were going through his knapsack – you know how there's always something they forget to give you – and I found a set of markers."

"Markers? You mean like to color with?"

"Yeah." The young consultant looked profoundly uncomfortable. "But really good ones. An artist set. I can't imagine the school being able to hand them out."

Peter nodded and frowned thoughtfully. "Okay. So what did you do?"

Neal sighed. "I told him he shouldn't have them, that it was wrong to bring them home, and to give them back to the teacher. And apologize." He shook his head. "He didn't even seem to realize he'd done something wrong. He just stared at me…"

There was silence for a moment in the kitchen, until Neal finally wrenched out the rest.

"I just… I just don't want him to turn out like I did."

"Oh, Neal…" El put a comforting hand on his head as a small blue-eyed tornado flew into the kitchen.

"Mommy! Can I get some more popcorn?"

"We're out of popcorn. How about pretzels?"

"'K." She waited with barely contained energy as her mother went to the pantry and slowly took out a bag. "Mo-om…"

"Be polite, Becca."

"Sorry, Daddy."

Peter shook his head as he scooped up his daughter, kissing her on the nose. "Hey, sweetheart. Can I ask you something?"

"Yup." Her eyes went big and solemn as she looked at her father. "What?"

"Have you been drawing much at school this week?"

"Yup." She turned and looked to check on her mother's progress, and realized her mom and her uncle were listening, too. Given a larger audience, she elaborated. "The whole class is doin' it. It's an art project." She looked around as if there might be spies in the corners of the room, and whispered, "We're making flowers." Her smile blossomed and she added, "And we got to use the markers!"

Peter nodded sagely. "Well, they must think you're pretty grown up, then. Markers can be messy."

"Nah," She said, reaching over and grabbing a pretzel from the bowl her mother held. "They're wash-ble." Munching happily, she added, "'Cept for the ones Rafe's using ."

Elizabeth shot a glance at Neal, who stiffened at the mention of his son's name. "Oh? Raphael had different markers? Why was that?"

Rebecca sighed dramatically. "'Cause Rafe said he needed more colors, and he really wanted to paint so he could mix, and Miss Barton said no, it's markers today, and he was sad, and he looked at her like this," she pouted and blinked her eyes at them as if she might cry, "and she said 'okay, fine, here', and gave him _her_ markers that we can't use 'cause they're perm-nant but she said it's okay for Rafe 'cause he's so careful." She stared at the pretzel in her hand and turned it around to bite the other side. "But I think she just likes the way he draws stuff."

Neal looked more curious as Peter glanced over at him and their eyes met. "Really. Does he draw very well?"

She nodded as she played with the collar of Peter's shirt. "Yup." Suddenly her eyes went wide. "Wanna see?"

"Do we want to see what?"

"Rafe's flower. I brought it home, 'cause he didn't know if Aunt Sara was gonna be home or not today, and Miss Barton says he should save it for a present." She squirmed out of her father's arms. "Lemme get it!"

Peter and Neal stared at each other. "Well, at least I know how he got the markers."

El shook her head. "Neal, maybe he brought them home by accident –"

Rebecca Burke burst back into the kitchen with her knapsack in tow. "I hadda ask Rafe if you could see it, but he said he doesn't care." Pulling out a folder, she passed it to her father. "Check this out!"

The three adults moved to the table, where Peter opened the folder and gently took out a sheet of paper. He laid it on the table, and they stared at it in silence.

It was a rose, nearly full blown, shaded in deep coral reds to yellowing pinks at the edges of the petals. Unlike most children's pictures, it took up the entire page, as if he had snapped a picture of the blossom in his mind and transferred it to paper.

El took a breath. "Oh, my."

Becca nodded. "Told ya."

Peter put a hand on Neal's shoulder. "He's five? And he can do _this_ already?" The agent chuckled. "Well, there's no denying he's your son."

Neal stared at the picture, and finally spoke. "The lighting is a little off."

Elizabeth whacked him on the back of his head. "He's _five_!"

Neal grinned. "I know." Looking at his friends, he said, "It's pretty amazing, isn't it?"

"He doesn't draw at home?"

"Nope." Three adults turned and looked down. Becca shrugged. "He doesn't think he's very good. Not as good as Uncle Neal, anyway. He doesn't even think Aunt Sara would like this because Uncle Neal could do it _so_ much better." She went on, oblivious to the reactions around her. "Miss Barton said he could take her markers home to do more pictures, because he never used ones like that before and he was doing really good and he didn't want to stop for math and she said we had to do math now but he can take them home as long as he does more pictures with them and brings them back when he's done." She took a breath and smiled.

El and Peter looked at Neal, whose eyes had clouded over. Peter cleared his throat. "Hey, Becca… could you call Raphael in here for me?"

The little girl's eyes narrowed. "He's not in trouble, is he?"

Peter brushed a hand over her head. "Nope. Just get him, okay?"

She darted off and Neal sat down, putting his head in his hand. "Damn."

"Take it easy, partner."

"I'm such an _idiot_."

Peter sat down at the table, and El stood behind Neal, her hands on his shoulders. The agent sighed. "You know...of all the things I've tried to get you to learn from working with me all these years… you had to pick up my worst habit."

Neal looked up at him. "What?"

"Distrusting first and asking questions later. Giving the one who counts on you to understand a hard time. Come on, Neal. He's talented. He's a good kid. And you should be proud, really _proud_…" Peter leaned closer and spoke with quiet sincerity. "Because obviously, he's growing up to be just like his father."

Neal blinked hard, and gave him a desperate little frown. "Okay. But what do I do now?"

"Oh, come on. If you learned the bad part, I _know_ you must have learned this part, too…"

The younger man stared for a minute, before things suddenly made sense. "Right." Neal sat back and smiled, his eyes taking on an old, familiar sparkle. "Now, I apologize."

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><p>oOo<p>

oOoOo

oOo

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><p><em>please feed the author…<em>


	14. Future Perfect: Little Wing

_It's been a while, but I miss these guys... and I am enjoying where the future fics are taking me. _

_So here, with little ado, is another future bit. I hope you enjoy._

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><p>oOo<p>

_**Future Perfect: Little Wing  
><strong>_

oOo

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><p>The girl walked thoughtfully across the newly mown grass in the park, forsaking paths while her sneakers picked up a fresh layer of green. A bird flew overhead, and her eyes followed it upward to see a few fat clouds drifting slowly in a fickle summer breeze. After a few minutes the wind shifted and she stood still, listening. There. Faint but clear - now that she heard what she was listening for - music drifted through the trees. She smiled as the wind reversed itself again, bumping her case against her knee, and through the resonant hum imagined her guitar was smiling as well. They both had friends here.<p>

At least she liked to think they did. It had been weeks since she had talked to Rafe, now that they were in different schools, and while she had been to the park four times, she hadn't seen him. Today was the first time she heard any guitar on the green other than her own. There was a definite bounce in her step as she started off again, walking around a copse of lilacs.

Sure enough, there he was. Picking softly as the wind played mind games with his hair, and wearing the same paint-stained hoodie she'd seen him in weeks ago. She was ready to call out, knowing he wouldn't see her, when he stopped, tilted his head, and looked in her direction.

"Hey."

"Hey." She walked over and sat down cross-legged on the grass near him. "Stranger."

"Seriously. Sorry. School's been crazy. And Mom and Dad are pushing the college applications…" His fingers flew through a run out of the first Bach invention they had played together. She laughed.

"Nice." Turning for a moment, she took out her guitar and settled it on her lap, leaning an ear closer to check the tuning as she spoke. "My folks aren't quite as bad. At least I had Matt to break trail for me."

"Must be nice."

The girl frowned lightly at him, considering. At sixteen, she wandered the line between seeing him as an interesting friend and an interesting boy rather easily. A grin got away from her as she spoke, coloring her voice. "You know, if you called once in a while, we could plan a time to play…"

He shook his head. "No phone."

"Really? You lost it again?" Her first thought was to offer him hers, with no concern for little details like how he would call her if she didn't have a phone. Rolling her eyes at herself, she went on. "I mean…"

"It's okay," he said easily. "It's in my room somewhere. It'll turn up."

She shrugged and ran through a scale to warm up. He upped it a half tone and played another. Giggling, she played the third faster, and it became a race through the majors and minors. They were both deep in concentration by the time they were done, enjoying the competition, and she shook her head at him. "You're sounding really good."

"Tripped in the F minor, though." He picked up a water bottle and took a drink. "Feel like playing anything?"

Deftly ignoring the question, she pulled her dark hair back and tied it as she spoke. "How long've we been playing together?"

His head tipped sideways and he looked thoughtful for a long moment. "I don't know. My Dad says that real artists have no idea when they started doing what they do. It's just part of them."

"Your dad's a smart man."

"Yeah, he's pretty clever sometimes."

She chuckled ironically, and he grinned. It was amazing what a difference his smile made, turning his rather vagabond appearance into something quite a bit more interesting. She nodded to herself, her fingers wandering over the strings of their own volition, impatient to play. "Been a while since we tried some bluegrass."

"True."

The girl started in on a riff straight out of Foggy Mountain Breakdown, and he nodded along for a moment, checking the key before he joined in. When they finished, she said, "Your turn. But it's got to follow."

"Well, of course."

"Yup. And try to be _sensible_." Her blue eyes sparkled in the sun as she waited for him to figure it out. It was a game she often played with musical friends. Instead of trying to choose a song out of all the songs they knew, the game required that the next piece had to relate somehow to the one preceding… and whether or not it made sense often added to the fun by way of enjoyable arguments.

"Oh… wait." He considered for a moment, and with a mischievous grin started a Hendrix tune. The girl stared at him.

"How in the world does that go with –"

He gave her a fleeting grin. "Blue_grass_?"

She caught on after a bare second and gave a groan just before he began singing. For a few moments she picked along the bass line, then just stopped and listened, only strumming background when he reached the guitar solo.

_Well, she's walking through the clouds,_

_With a circus mind that's running wild,_

_Butterflies and Zebras,_

_And Moonbeams and fairy tales._

_That's all she ever thinks about._

_Riding with the wind._

_When I'm sad, she comes to me,_

_With a thousand smiles she gives to me free._

_It's alright, she says it's alright,_

_Take anything you want from me,_

_Anything._

She watched him carefully. Sudden realization dawned in her eyes. "Oh my gosh. That painting in your bedroom. That's that song!"

He laughed. "And you _just_ figured that out?"

"Yes! I mean… well…" Secretly, she had always felt he painted that particular picture for her. Thinking over the words of the song, she couldn't help but wonder…

oOo

For the next two hours they played, meandering all the way from Hendrix to, at one _very_ odd moment, Disney. The girl looked at her watch and growled softly. "I've got to get going."

"Yeah, I should get back, too. I've got a shift at the museum today."

They were putting their guitars away when she looked pointedly at the young man next to her. "Hey."

"Yes?"

"Is there any chance of us getting together a little more often? I mean… once we're in college, we probably won't see much of each other…"

"Bec… you're my best friend. We'll always see each other. I'm just sorry it took so long this time."

"Well… me too." She felt a blush rising to her cheek, and there was a smile in her voice as she hurried to fuss with her guitar. She felt an odd shiver as he touched her arm and spoke again.

"Hey… I think the folks are getting together for dinner on Thursday. Want to crash their party? We can say we're looking at college catalogues…"

A laugh bubbled up out of her embarrassment. "That would be perfect! It's so weird with Matt off at college when they get together at our house."

"Are you sure you can be there? I don't want to be a fifth wheel…"

"Yup. I just have rehearsal with the band on Mondays and Saturdays now. At least until we graduate."

"Perfect." He clicked the locks on his guitar case and stood up, reaching out to give her a hand up as well.

"Until next time, Becca." With a move that would have made his father proud, Raphael Caffrey bowed to kiss her hand, then flipped his hat up onto his head in one easy movement. As usual, it made her giggle, which seemed to make him happier every time he heard it.

"See you Thursday. Take it easy, Rafe."

For a few moments he stood listening to the wind in the trees as he watched her walk off in the grass. A faint fragrance of the light scent that accompanied her drifted to him once more, and he looked thoughtful. Jasmine and tangerine. A cool breeze crossed his cheek and he turned to go, a bemused grin on his face as he slowly headed out across the grass.

Becca Burke. His best friend. And just maybe, one of these days, something more…

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

oOoOo

oOo

* * *

><p>…<em>please feed the author…<em>


	15. Future Perfect: Beginnings

_Not a Christmas story, but a bit of a gift for the New Year. Thank you for reading._

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

**_FUTURE PERFECT: BEGINNINGS_**

oOo

* * *

><p>It was, as usual, hard enough to be an agent over the holidays.<p>

But somehow, this Christmas was rougher than usual. Not only had the perp of a bank embezzlement scheme decided that Christmas eve was a great time to pull off a scam – which, of course, it was - Neal seemed totally distracted during the investigation and subsequent capture. Perhaps even _tempted_. And on top of that, Elizabeth was just… well. He sighed, closed a folder on his desk and stared blankly at the desktop.

Since her kidnapping so very long ago, she had been doing fine - for the most part. The occasional nightmare, the infrequent look of distress in her eye that only Peter recognized. But it was no more than he expected. She was strong, she was amazing, she was… _Elizabeth_.

Then in the last month or so, rather abruptly, her moods began to change. She wasn't feeling well, she was tired and stressed out… but it was the _moods_ that were hard to deal with. Not only was El one of the most stable women that Peter had ever met; she was the stability that stood behind him, made him able to keep a level head. Now she vacillated from crying to laughing with a speed that left him totally confused. Of course, the holidays approaching can cause that kind of thing, and her business had been especially hectic for the holidays…_ but let's face it, Burke. You've seen the symptoms of PTSD enough to know how they vary…and how long after the fact they can appear. _He shook his head again. Was he just over diagnosing because he had seen so many agents affected by it, and he had frankly been afraid it would happen since she had gone through the kidnapping, hell, nearly _expecting_ it to happen?

Exhaling a deep breath, Agent Burke blinked himself back into the reality that faced him. It was three days after Christmas, his partner was acting sketchy, and his wife was quite possibly suffering from some kind of traumatic stress disorder. There was little he could do about any of it – besides just make sure that El got all the help that he and the FBI could offer, and do his job the best he could as far as Neal was concerned. He stared at his monitor, waiting for his thoughts to settle, and barely registered the knock at his door.

Looking up, he saw a familiar face, blue eyes looking a bit more concerned than usual. Almost like looking in a mirror. When Peter spoke, he heard annoyance in his voice that masked the fear he actually felt. Things being out of control was not something he handled well. "What is it, Neal?"

Neal frowned lightly. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Well… I was standing here for a couple minutes before I knocked, and you usually know I'm here before I do, for one thing." He grinned, but got no response. "What's going on?"

Peter looked at his friend, and bit his lower lip. He really could use someone to talk to about El, but Neal had been acting oddly again lately…clearly not telling him something. The agent felt old defenses click into place. "I'm just tired. Must be the holidays. What's going on?"

Neal leaned against the door frame, wondering how to break the tension that he could feel between himself and his partner. It hadn't been that long since his real release, since he'd become what Mozzie called 'a free-range consultant' for the FBI, and he owed the man sitting in front of him more than his life. But there were still times, especially when he had something going on… something he couldn't easily talk about…

"Ah… I was wondering if I could get Friday off. What with New Year's coming up and all."

Peter managed to look slightly amused at the request. "Really? Have you looked around?"

Neal frowned and glanced down at the bullpen. There was barely a skeleton crew running the office in the week between Christmas and the New Year's celebration. The younger man smirked a bit, and looked back to Peter. "Well, I suppose that raises a question, then. Since we closed the embezzlement case, why are you even here, and not home with Elizabeth?" The sudden cloud that passed over his partner's face startled him, leaving him with unsettling thoughts. "Peter? Is she okay?"

Their eyes locked for a long moment. Peter felt his heart straining in his chest, felt the undeniable longing to talk to his best friend about this… but the stress was too much. Neal acting strange on top of his worries about El made the agent default to old habits; and believing he could trust the former con man, no matter what they'd been through together, was one of the first things to go. He blew out a breath through pursed lips.

"Ah, she's a little under the weather. Between consulting at the art gallery and still running her business, and the holidays…" He shrugged. "You know."

"Christmas dinner was wonderful. I hope the party didn't do her in?"

"No, no, I don't think so." Peter allowed himself a moment's pause, and grinned. "It _was_ pretty wonderful, wasn't it." The Burkes had hosted a small gathering on Christmas Day. Elizabeth and Mozzie had cooked, Neal had chosen the wine list, and Sara and Peter… well, they ate, and drank, and appreciated. Peter had carved the roast, but for the most part they all just laughed, and enjoyed. El had been really happy, and really relaxed. But the next morning she woke up not feeling well, and it upset her – largely because there were things she had to prep for a party. He exhaled again, and his expression changed as worry found its way back into his thoughts.

Neal nodded, concern washing his features. They looked at each other for a moment more, both realizing that more was going on, but respecting the line that so often had been drawn between them in the past. Neal, for his part, decided that this was not going to be the time to ask Peter for the other favor he wanted. Still, he spoke softly. "Anything I can do?"

Peter grunted. "Stay out of trouble?"

Blue eyes rolled with the slightest of grins, but the voice was laden with sincere care. "Right. Anything I can do for _Elizabeth_?"

Touched in spite of himself, Peter backpedaled, a little embarrassed. "No. I don't think so. But… thanks."

"Sure. Just… let me know. Okay?"

"Right."

Their eyes met again, and locked for a long moment. Somewhere in the whirlwind of thoughts they both were dealing with was a sparkling sliver of light. No matter what, there was a connection they couldn't deny, and that they could rely on. Good friends are hard to find.

oOo

Elizabeth seemed fine when he got home, and Peter had managed to wait until after dinner to broach the subject. He still didn't feel like he managed to get it right. "So, honey… I was wondering if you might want to talk to Paula."

She scooped up the last of the dishes and turned to look at him, puzzled. "Paula?"

He swallowed hard. "Paula Anderson. At work. You know… "

Her brows lifted thoughtfully as she stared at him. "You mean the psychiatrist? Why? Do you think I'm –"

He stood quickly and wrapped his arms around her. "El," he whispered. "I'm just worried. You've been kind of tense, on and off, and I just…" He looked at her with some despair, and she couldn't help smiling sympathetically at him. "El. You know how I am."

Lifting up on her toes she kissed him. "I know. And I know I've been a little off… but you think it's…"

"Hon, I don't know what it is. But I can't stand to see you struggle with it without knowing if there's something…" His eyes darkened, and his voice became rough. "I can't bear it, El. Please? Could you just check with her to make sure everything's okay?"

For a moment she frowned, then rested her head against his chest. "I'll give her a call tomorrow."

Peter held her tightly, resting his chin on her head, his eyes closed. He couldn't believe how much better he felt already. "Thank you. I know you have plenty to be stressed about right now, but… but I just want to make sure it doesn't have anything to do with…"

She pulled back slightly, and looked deep into his eyes. Her voice was a soft whisper. "Sweetheart. It wasn't your fault." His shoulders dropped, and he opened his mouth – but nothing came out. "It wasn't. And I think I'm fine…" she frowned again, and he marveled at her self-awareness. "But I do think I'm a little… something. Maybe there's something going on in here. We'll see." She kissed him softly and shook her head. "You still talk to her sometimes, don't you?"

Peter nodded. "It's required."

Elizabeth smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling. "And you would anyway. Because you protect me from everything you can. My knight in shining armor." He looked down, blinking hard, and she kissed him again. "I'll talk to her tomorrow. I promise." Then, with her old brightness, she slipped out of his arms and changed the subject. "Are Neal and Sara still joining us for New Years Eve?"

His head tilted quizzically. "Um…"

Her laugh was warm. "Ah. Sara and I talked about it – I take it Neal didn't mention anything?"

"No. But he's been a little distracted."

"Well, check with him tomorrow. We're going to have a sleepover! Movies, games, snackies…We asked Mozzie, but he's got plans." She lifted her eyebrows suggestively, and they both laughed.

"A sleepover." Peter shook his head as she walked to the sink. "Well, it's safer than going out, that's for sure. Will Neal and I be required to paint each others nails?"

She looked back over her shoulder with a smirk. "Well, not each others…"

oOo

It was Friday, and a thin web of snow fell on the city; not sticking, but making breathing an artic adventure.

"So, Elizabeth, I'm sorry I couldn't see you until today. How are you?"

"I'm not sure, Dr. Anderson. I've been feeling kind of… well. Off? Sensitive? And Peter's worried." She shrugged, clearly a bit tense.

The silver-haired psychologist smiled warmly. "'Paula', is fine, Elizabeth. And frankly, I've been feeling a little 'off' as well. Of course, my kids brought their kids for the holidays, and four younglings under the age of five…I love them dearly, but my back!" She chuckled, and El relaxed a bit. "So we know _Peter_ worries, but are _you_ having trouble with nightmares? Difficult thoughts?"

El frowned thoughtfully. "No, not really… I mean, sometimes. But I just use the exercises we worked on, and focus on _now_." The doctor nodded approvingly. "I just feel sort of… _unstable_, I guess. And tired. And I've got some kind of stomach bug that won't go away."

Paula wrote a few notes, flipped a page to check something, and looked at El over her reading glasses. "Have you been checked out by your doctor?"

Elizabeth waved off the idea. "No. I mean, it's just a bug. I've been working a lot, and eating holiday food –"

The doctor smiled. "It's sweet that Peter assumes that your discomfort is emotional and stress related because that's what his job often causes. But that means you, miss Elizabeth, have to look at other possibilities. There are plenty of stress related illnesses that effect your emotions – but only because there is a physical condition. I see from your chart that you and Peter use one of ours… I'd like you to get checked out by an MD. And since we don't want your husband to develop something all his own, I'll make a call and get you in today." She made another note, then put her pen down and smiled. "But we still have a lot of time. Tell me about the new job."

oOo

Saturday dawned chilly and gray, with a nip of true winter in the air. Elizabeth and Peter sat and drank their coffee, reading the Times and chatting when an article caught their attention enough to share. Peter looked over at his wife and smiled. They didn't have any answers yet, but they both felt better knowing that there were other people working on it. He put down his mug. "What time are they coming?"

El glanced at the clock automatically. "I told them five. We have lots of time. Can you vacuum while I change the sheets in the guest room?"

"Yup." He nodded and a mischievous look glinted in his eye. "Unless you need help in there…"

She stood and whapped him with the paper. "Let's get the work done first, shall we?"

"Fine." He looked over at the stove. "You hungry? I think I'm going to throw together a quick omelet."

She considered it, and suddenly looked a little green. "Um, no. Not hungry yet. I'll try later."

He frowned a bit. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah… I think maybe the coffee just sat funny. I'll be okay." She turned and put down her mug. "I'll be glad when the doctor lets me know if this is an ulcer, or what. It's just annoying." She gave him a slightly forced smile. "I'm going to shower, and then we can run to the store to pick up bits before we tidy."

"Okay." He stood and gave her a kiss on the forehead. "Let me know if you need anything."

oOo

Sara and Neal arrived with a case of wine. Peter's eyes went wide. "How much did you bring? There's only the four of us…"

"Don't worry, Peter. There's only six bottles of wine, and what we don't drink now is for your collection." He reached into the box and pulled out a bottle. "Also, of course, champagne for midnight…" he reached in and pulled out another, "And, for she of the cranky stomach, ginger ale. Just in case."

Elizabeth laughed and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "Thanks, Neal. Nice to know you're looking out for me."

Sara nodded, her eyes more concerned than her smile let on. "Speaking of, any word yet?"

El shook her head. "No. They gave me some heavy duty antacids, and took enough blood to float a small boat." She sighed. "Right now, I feel fine. But he warned me I probably won't hear anything until Monday, maybe Tuesday."

Sara threw her arms up dramatically. "What? They won't work on New Years eve? Slackers." Laughing, they settled down in the living room with a platter of appetizers and a stack of games. Neal reached over and picked up two. "Okay. Cranium or Pictionary first?"

Peter's voice rang with sarcasm. "Oh, please. Like I'm going to go up against you in drawing."

"You really feel that much better going up against me in brains?"

They stared at each other, and the women laughed. El turned to Sara. "I swear. He's the little brother Peter never had…"

…

It was getting late when Neal looked at his watch. "Holy cow. It's five to midnight."

El frowned. "Really? How did that happen so fast?" Peter turned on the television so they could watch the ball drop. "Oh, let me get my phone. I promised Moz we would call right after midnight."

"Promised?"

She chuckled evilly as she came back in with her purse, and rummaged through for her phone. "Okay, maybe _threatened_." She pulled out her cell and frowned.

"What's up, hon?"

"A number I don't recognize left a message. I hope it's not work…"

A loud pop distracted her, and she looked over in time to see Sara laughing as Neal filled the champagne flutes. "We're nearly done with the year. Come and get it." There was a touch of nervousness in his voice, but only Peter noticed it. On the television, a sparkling ball filled the screen.

El punched buttons on her phone. "Just let me check this quick."

"El! It's –"

"Peter, don't worry. I'll still be here to kiss you, I'm just -"

Peter turned to look at Neal for support, who was staring at Sara, one hand in his pocket. He could have sworn the man was sweating. Then he turned back to El, who was listening to the phone with a blank expression on her face.

"El?"

She turned and looked at him, tears in her eyes.

"El. What's wrong? Who was it?"

On the television, the crowd began to chant.

"FIVE!"

"The doctor. Peter, I…"

"FOUR!"

"What did he say?"

"THREE!"

"We're…"

"TWO!"

"Sweetheart, what is it? What did they say?"

"Peter. We're going to have a baby."

"ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>An hour or two later, Sara and El were in the kitchen making tea and chatting excitedly. "So… I know it's none of my business, but – were you planning this?"<p>

El laughed. "We were going to wait when we first got married. Then after a couple years, we tried… and it just wasn't working. We figured it wasn't going to happen… and now…" She shook her head. I can't believe it! I'm in shock."

"Well, it sure beats an ulcer for the new year!" Sara poured for El and they giggled like schoolgirls as they sipped their tea.

"It's just amazing." Then, with a sisterly look, she turned her head to face Sara. "And what do you want this year, Sara?"

Sara blinked, and a blush touched her cheek. "Well… let's just say… something good."

oOo

In the living room, Peter downed the last flute of champagne and stared at the wall. Neal's laugh distracted him.

"You look a little shell-shocked, _Dad_."

"Oh, God…" The agent put down the glass and began to chuckle. "This is unbelievable."

Blue eyes were suddenly quite serious. "You'll be a great father, you know."

Peter looked at his would-be little brother and smiled. "Thanks. I hope so." Then he frowned, ever so slightly. "So, Neal… after all this… you want to tell me what's been going on for you?"

Neal dropped his head for a moment, then looked back up at Peter. "Listen… I know I've been a little distracted lately. But it's nothing bad. At least I hope you don't think it's anything bad." He exhaled. "I have to admit, you guys sort of stole my thunder tonight."

"How so?"

Peter's eyes widened as Neal stood, reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. When he flipped it open, Peter's grin was unmistakable. "Wow. Tell me you didn't steal that…" But he was laughing as he said it, and Neal smiled. "You going to ask her tonight?"

"I was _going_ to… but then you come up with this baby thing… kind of a scene stealer."

Peter nodded his head. "I'd apologize, but frankly… "

"Oh, I know. But you know… maybe this timing was too cliché."

Peter stood and put his hand on Neal's shoulder. "You'll know when it's time. You won't be able to stop yourself."

Neal shuffled awkwardly. "Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"If she says yes…"

"Big question there."

"Right. I hope. Anyway." He looked nervous, and again, Peter could see little beads of sweat on his forehead. "Well, I was wondering, if she says yes… will you be my best man? I mean, I don't know if you want to associate yourself with me on such a personal level, if it would be bad for your career. I'd understand… I just…"

Peter stared at him, and slowly smiled. "Neal. I'd be honored." They hugged, and slapped each other on the back. "You just let me know when it's official."

"I will."

"Good. Now let's go see what the women are up to. I should probably get Elizabeth to bed…"

"Isn't that how you got into trouble to begin with?"

Laughing, they wrapped an arm over each others shoulders, and walked into their future.

oOo

oOoOo

oOo

…_please feed the author…_


	16. Future Perfect: Believe

_I can't believe how long it's been since I wrote one for this cheerful little series… but if anyone out there is still reading, Merry Christmas! _

_Since it's been so long, I'll remind you that by this episode, Peter and El have Mattie and Rebecca; Neal and Sarah have Raphael. Neal is a free consultant. And it's perfect. _

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

_FUTURE PERFECT: BELIEVE_

oOo

* * *

><p>Mattie was five when he started wondering. He didn't want to say anything to anyone, but he wondered nonetheless.<p>

It was a bright May Saturday when he actually asked someone, and he was an old man of six. He knew he didn't want to ask his Mom or Dad, they might get upset. But there was always someone he could ask anything…

"Uncle Neal?"

Neal Caffrey, FBI consultant, former conman, and father, glanced up from the two three-year olds who were finally asleep on the family room floor and smiled at his godson, speaking quietly. "What's up, sport?"

"I have a question."

Neal looked into the serious brown eyes, so much like his father's when he was worried about something that it was almost scary. "Okay." He adjusted the blanket on the floor over his son and Becca, stood up and motioned toward the kitchen. "I think they're going to be out for a while. How about we talk over some lemonade?"

Mattie nodded. "Yeah…" He walked thoughtfully into the other room, and Neal took a deep breath. The best part of Peter and El being ahead of them as parents was that he had Mattie to practice with, before Raphael got old enough to look that serious. _Good grief, he's six. How bad can it be?_

In the kitchen Mattie sat at the table while Neal poured them both a drink. They both took a sip. Matt seemed to be hesitating, but Neal knew that determined, concerned look all too well - although he was used to it coming from a few feet higher up. "So. What's the question?" _Please not sex, no, it can't be sex, he's six for heaven's sake… _

Mattie took another sip, his eyes staying on the glass. Abruptly, his focus went to Neal, and again, the familiar serious expression threw him. _Six._

"Uncle Neal?"

"Yes?"

"Is Santa Claus real?"

Neal blinked. _Well, I didn't expect that…not in May. But that's Mattie._ "Lots of people believe in Santa. Why do you ask?"

"But does Santa bring the presents, or is it all Mom and Dad?"

For a moment, Neal looked away. Belief was a very strong component of being a con man, as was being able to convince people what to believe. He knew that he could easily convince the lad that the storybook Santa was real. He glanced toward the living room, where his own son lay sleeping, and frowned thoughtfully. _Do I believe in Santa? Well… And what would Peter want me to say?_

Neal thought about last Christmas, when Rafe asked Santa for his first real art supplies, and how happy the boy was when he got them. The sparkle, the joy… the amazingly grateful attitude. The delight in a world that might not always be so kind. He took a deep breath, and looked into his would-be nephew's eyes.

"Well, you're really smart, Matt. You pay attention to details. What do you think?"

Matt sighed a far too adult sigh. He looked away for just a second, then back. "I think it's Mom and Dad."

Neal nodded thoughtfully, took another sip of lemonade. "Well, you're a smart guy. I guess you're growing up. Now you'll really believe in Santa."

Matt frowned. "What do you mean?"

Neal leaned closer to him, speaking quietly. "Don't you see, Matt? The presents… they're the proof. Santa _does_ get the presents."

"But you just said Mom and Dad did…"

"Right." Blue eyes widened with the intensity of his words. "So what does that make Mom and Dad?"

Matt stared for a moment before his eyes widened in return. "They're… Santa?"

Neal slapped him on the shoulder. "Exactly! And when you're old enough to know that, you're old enough to be Santa, too!"

The boy didn't look so much disappointed as curious. "Will I still get presents?"

"Of course you will! It's not that kind of game. It's not a con, it's –"

Mattie put his lemonade down. "So why don't people just say that from the beginning? Why make it so… complicated?"

Neal grinned. "Hey, it _is_ complicated, Mattie. It takes a while to realize that Christmas is about giving, not getting. But real little kids don't understand that, and that's okay. They're so little they need people to take care of them all the time… and they're not old enough, not responsible enough to be something like Santa." Again, the familiar look, deeply thoughtful brown eyes in a face far too young. He leaned close again, speaking quietly. "You want to know a secret?"

Matt nodded seriously.

"I remember what Rafe got for Christmas last year. I remember how excited and happy he was… and I remember that here." He put his hand over his heart. "I know I got some really cool stuff too, and I was grateful to get it… but nothing makes you happier than giving something to someone. And when they don't even know it was you? They think it was Santa?" He grinned. "Even better. You'll be amazed."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah. You get to go out and find things, or make things for people, and sneak around and keep them hidden and surprise them… you have to pay attention and remember things… it's great. You're going to love it, now that you're grown-up enough to be Santa too."

Neal watched as a grin began to grow on the young boy's face. "Yeah… I know when it's Mom's birthday I like to surprise her… "

"Exactly."

Mattie smiled, and then frowned. "There are kids at school who go around telling little kids there's no Santa."

Neal shook his head sadly. "They don't know. And I bet they don't talk about how cool it is to give, do they."

"Nope."

"Yeah. Someone probably told them without giving them the whole story, so they think it's some kind of a con job. It's pretty sad." They nodded, sipping the lemonade together as if were fifteen-year-old brandy. "Which brings me to another point. You have to be really careful around people who aren't grown up enough. _And_ people who just really like to believe."

Mattie looked toward the family room thoughtfully. "Bec and Rafe aren't old enough."

"Nope. Oh, and there's another person you should be really careful around."

Young eyebrows peaked. "Who?"

"Your mom. She's so good at giving that she believes in Santa _big_ time. The idea that _everyone_ does it at Christmastime makes her really, really happy. I think she feels like half the time she's from another planet, and at this time of year… she feels at home."

They both laughed, and Mattie nodded. "Thanks, Uncle Neal."

"Hey, no problem, Matt. You know you can talk to me anytime." He stood and opened a cupboard. "You hungry yet, or should we wait for the kids to wake up?"

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>"Already?" El's blue eyes were a bit watery. "I hoped it would last longer…" Peter hugged her and rubbed his hands over her back.<p>

"El, it sounds like Neal did a great job talking to him about it. I don't think it'll be a problem."

She sighed. "I guess Becca will believe for a while longer…"

Peter grinned at her, and gave her a kiss. "I love you."

Smiling, she kissed him back, then started abruptly when she glanced at her watch. "Oh! I have to get going."

"Right, Matt's field trip with Uncle Neal. I'm sure they'll have fun at the museum."

"Evidently they're talking renaissance today. Neal is so sweet with him, and such a good teacher." Picking up her purse, she shook her head. "I'm just glad Mattie knew he could talk to someone if he was worried about how we would react. We're very lucky." They kissed again, and she flew out the door.

Peter stood in the kitchen for a few minutes, looking out into the May sunshine. His little boy was growing up. It was bittersweet, but amazing. With a sudden grin, he thought, _and so is his uncle_.

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>Half a year later, on a snowy Christmas Eve, two families were enjoying their traditional time together. Four parents sat together in the kitchen, while three children played with their new treasures under the tree. Matthew, now seven, was fussing with his first digital camera. Rafael had spilled out his brand new marker set and was arranging them by which colors were his favorites, and Rebecca paused in her building of a Lego throne for her Barbie to stare at her brother, speaking with faint accusation in her voice.<p>

Just loud enough for the parents to hear as they sat, suddenly _very_ attentively, in the kitchen.

"So if he brings all the presents, how come some people get them the day before?"

Mattie shrugged. "I think they have a deal."

"That doesn't make sense."

"You don't make sense."

The sound of raspberries floated over the Christmas music that was playing softly.

The young lady of the trio turned to Raphael. "What do you think, Rafe?"

"About what?" The markers were nearly perfectly arranged.

"About Santa. Marsha at school says he's fake."

Mattie interjected quietly. "He's not _fake_."

Raphael Caffrey blinked up at the Burke siblings. Normally, he stayed out of disagreements. It was safer. This time, though, he looked at Matt curiously. Their eyes met for a long moment, and when Rafe lifted his eyebrows, Matt nodded.

While Rebecca and Raphael were great friends, there was still a guy bond between the two boys. Besides, Becca was a _girl_, and the youngest – by a whopping six months.

Rafe glanced at Becca for a moment, then went back to organizing his markers. "I don't think he's fake. Someone has to bring stuff."

"Yeah, but –"

Mattie sighed, swinging around to look at her through the viewfinder. "It doesn't matter, Bec. Whoever brings the stuff is Santa. So Santa is real, or we wouldn't be getting stuff, right?"

She frowned, just a bit, as she looked at the boys. Then she shrugged, deciding it was more important to make her throne bigger.

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>On Christmas morning, the Burke family was sitting happily in the family room. Music was playing, the aromas of fresh coffee and hot chocolate mixed with fresh pastry in the air. The children had opened their stockings, and now the family was taking turns opening presents, with many a delighted squeal and lots of laughter.<p>

They had opened almost everything when Becca did her usual crawl under the tree, making sure nothing had been overlooked. "Found one!" She crawled back out holding a tiny box, wrapped in green paper with a little red bow. It was taped onto a square of card stock. Turning it over several times, she shrugged, and then handed it to her father. "That's weird. No name, Daddy. But a note."

Peter took the box from her and frowned. He looked at El and mumbled quietly. "This look familiar?" She shook her head. "Hmh." He turned it over and read the very neat lettering on the card, "for the Mom of the house. Merry Christmas, love, Santa." His eyebrows lifted. "The Mom of the house. Well, then. I guess this is for you, El."

El smiled and kissed his cheek. "Thanks, sweetheart."

Peter shrugged. "It's not from me. It's from Santa." El smiled, but he shook his head, his eyebrows shrugging again.

She frowned with a curious smile, her head tilting a bit. Then she carefully unwrapped and opened the box.

Inside were a pair of delicate earrings, each a hanging filigreed silver leaf with three small pale green beads hanging across them. "Oh, how did - I saw these…" She stared at them, then blinked and looked at her son.

_It was actually the day after Neal had let them know about Mattie's question. She couldn't resist going into the museum gift shop while they waited for Neal, and Matt had wandered over to the toys, but came back when he saw her looking at the jewelry. On the counter was a rack of pretty pieces that had been marked down, making room for the new items of the season. She tilted her head thoughtfully at a silver and green pair of earrings. "Oh… these are beautiful. And they'd go perfectly with the new suit I bought for work."_

_Mattie looked at them thoughtfully. "Yeah. You should get them."_

_Elizabeth looked at him and smiled. "Well, I would, but I can't really justify it right now..." she sighed. "Of course, by the time I could, they'll probably be gone, since they're on sale."_

_Matt opened his mouth, then frowned and closed it again. At that moment, a voice behind them spoke. "I thought I'd find you here…"_

_El turned around and laughed, giving Neal a hug. "Hi, Neal. Thanks again for taking him…"_

_"It's my pleasure. Really." Neal grinned at Matt and ruffled his hair. "You ready, sport?"_

_The boy gave a wide grin. "Sure am. See you later, Mom."_

_El gave her son a hug and kiss. "Be wonderful. And polite. And don't let him buy you anything." She shot Neal a look, and the man gave her a most innocent look._

_Mattie spoke with thoughtful reassurance. "Don't worry, Mom. I won't let him buy me anything."_

_Which was absolutely true._

Her eyes were watering as she looked at her son, remembering that day so many months ago.

Matthew, for his part, was sitting cross-legged on the floor, hiding a smile behind his mug of hot chocolate. He blinked at her in a performance worthy of his uncle. "What did Santa get you, Mom?"

Elizabeth took a deep breath. "He got me the most wonderful earrings. I saw them a long time ago, and liked them so much. I wonder how he knew?"

Mattie shrugged innocently, not able to stop smiling. "Well, you know Santa, Mom. He has eyes everywhere."

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

* * *

><p>The kids were finally in bed. Everything was quiet.<p>

"Peter?"

He looked up from his new book on baseball, and blinked at his wife affectionately. "Yes, dear?"

She hesitated. "How did he do it?"

Peter smiled broadly, closing his book and putting it on the end table. "Great story." Leaning forward, he spoke quietly, in case little ears weren't quite asleep yet. "Neal said that after you left the museum that day, he said he wanted to buy you the earrings for Christmas, but he didn't have enough money yet. Neal agreed to buy them and hold them until Matt could afford to buy them."

Her eyes widened. "Really? That was at least five months ago!"

"He saved his allowances, bought them from Neal, and swore him to secrecy, at least until Thanksgiving. I didn't know anything about it until I told Neal I was worried that Christmas might be different for Mattie this year, after the whole Santa thing this summer… and he told me."

El swallowed hard. "He really is growing up."

Peter moved over to the couch and wrapped his arms around her. "I know." He turned to kiss her, and smiled. "It's pretty wonderful, isn't it?"

"It is." They kissed again. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart."

"Merry Christmas."

* * *

><p>oOo<p>

oOoOo

oOo

* * *

><p><em>God Bless us, Every One!<em>


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